Come Together
by Chronosis
Summary: Vietnam War AU. Arthur came to America for the job opportunities. He didn't expect to end up in an apartment full of Beatles fanatics and war protestors. He definitely never expected to fall in love, especially not with the confusing, annoying, and undeniably charming Alfred F. Jones. All Arthur finds he wants is to stay near Alfred. Unfortunately, the war has other plans.
1. Chapter 1

_Early Spring, 1970_

_New York City, USA_

_"Here come old flattop, he come groovin' up slowly..."_

Arthur wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't this. The harbor was crowded beyond belief and the entire city was so huge. He had gotten lost more than once in his hunt for the apartment, but at least he was in the States now. He was grateful he managed to get away from the stench of oil and constant rain and judging stares of his old village. Anything would be better than working in the shipyards, especially with the people that lived there. He had worked there for three years just to earn enough money to pay for the boat to get here; he couldn't stand anymore.

Though, the apartment so far wasn't promising. The wallpaper in the hallway was peeling, the tile floor was cracked, and there was the faint smell of cheap cleaner everywhere he went. And the closer he got to the apartment address, the louder The Beatles blasted, until he was directly before the door. It was covered in chipped green paint, _Room 909_ tacked onto it in smudged bronze lettering. He checked not for the first time that this was where he was supposed to before approaching the door. He knocked once, waited, then knocked again, a bit louder. There was a bang from inside, a low curse, and then the door handle twisted. The door didn't budge. "Alright, give me a second, damn lock..." There was a sound like someone was throwing their weight against the door and the handle wrenched violently. The door banged open a crack, a flash racing out of it. "Muffin, come back!" A voice called after it. It was already gone by then, leaping out onto the roof. "Heracles and his cats..." The voice muttered. The door opened further.

_"Got to be a joker he just do what he please"_

A man with glasses, light blond hair, and a ridiculous brown bomber jacket looking was curiously down at him. He opened the door a bit further. "Afternoon. How can I help you?"

Arthur checked the address one more time to be certain this was right. "Well, I believe there were rooms up for rent here, and I had a chat with someone on the phone..." He trailed off uncertainly. "Is this the correct place?"

A huge grin spread across the man's face. "Ah, so you're the new one moving in! Welcome!" He opened the door wide, beckoning him in.

A step into the apartment and Arthur was already wondering what he got himself into.

On the floor before them was a collection of empty junk food bags and canned fruit containers. In the center of it all was an Asian boy passed out on the floor before applesauce containers stacked in a haphazard pyramid. He looked like he was still in high school. He was covered in wrappers; a half-eaten bag of Oreos, some Marathon Bars. Farther in the room, two more people were on couches. One was holding a cold pack to his forehead, a suspiciously empty bottle of painkillers beside him, and the other looked as if he was dead. A cat was stretched out across him, another sitting on a side table; they were everywhere. A record player in the corner spun- the source of the music.

"New person's here!" The man slammed the door closed. The only reaction he got was from the one with the cold pack. He looked up, squinted at them, and promptly fell back again. "Oh, come on, Francis. Where's the welcome party?" There was a noncommittal grunt.

Arthur started to back away. This definitely wasn't the place for him. However, before he got far, Alfred grabbed his wrist, pushing through a curtain of beads into the kitchen. "Come along, your room is right this way!"

"Actually, I think-" He cut himself off. Where else was he to go? This city had millions of people in it. It would take a while to get a job and even after that enough money to move out. With a resigned sigh, he let himself be pulled along.

"There's the bathroom, that's the kitchen, this is my workroom..."

As they passed by the workroom, Arthur noticed squares of heavy cardboard stacked against the wall with a collection of paint cans nearby. "What do you do?"

"Make signs. Go to riots. That sort of thing."

So he was a protester. He seemed to be in his early twenties- most people his age were in college. In fact, everybody was rushing to get into a college to avoid being drafted. "Are you studying anything?"  
>He stopped before a door at the end of the hallway. "Here we are! And, college costs money, and we never had too much of that." Arthur wondered who "we" he was referring to. The others on the couches? For some reason, he got the feeling he wasn't.<p>

The room was small. On one side, there was a bed with a macrame cover, on the other, a small dresser. Furry footprints ran across the ceiling. The walls were orange and the floor was covered in a brown shag carpet.

"This is..." He didn't quite know how to phrase it. "Different."

The man just grinned. "Hey. Where's your accent from? England, right?"

He nodded. He doubted that anyone would know the insignificant village he came from, so he didn't care to mention it.

"Far-out, man. What you here for?"

Arthur shrugged. "Job opportunities. Where I'm from, you're stuck in the shipyard all your life unless you get a scholarship. I didn't get one." He paused. "I'm terribly sorry, but I didn't catch your name."

He extended his hand. Arthur shook it cautiously. "Alfred F. Jones."

"Arthur. Forgive me if I forget, I'm horrid with names." It didn't really matter. He doubted he would forget Alfred- his absurd bomber jacket, his accent, how his smile lit up the room... He drove the last thought from his mind. He had to think of other things. After how his village rejected him, he could never let himself think like that again.

He noticed the first time a metal bracelet on the Alfred's arm as it fell to his side, catching the light. There was something engraved into it.

_LT. Matthew Williams_

_11-15-69_

But before he could ask, Alfred was gone, leaving Arthur with the strange feeling that this apartment wouldn't be so bad if he was here.

_"Come together, right now, over me..."_

_._

Scratch that. This American was insufferable. He had hardly been in New York for a day and in that time Alfred hadn't stopped talking in detail about the places in the city they could see from the living room window- most of which was the brick wall from the other complex. Now, Arthur and the rest of the people in this apartment were in the main room, Alfred intent on introducing him to the others. The Asian boy and the one who seemed dead had hardly moved- now, the latter was sitting up slightly, the former laying across him. Arthur had begun to wonder about their relationship. Alfred had gone to retrieve the remaining one from his room, dragging him out and ignoring his complaints about how he had to get ready for a performance. Alfred pushed him forward.

"This is Francis. He's the vocalist in a band." Francis turned to him, clad in overly-tight pants and a blue shirt. His hair was curly and blond, falling to his shoulders. Arthur recognized him as the one with the cold pack from the day before. His eyebrows shot up as he saw Arthur, as if he was noticing him for the first time. "Well, well, what do we have here? Alfred, I'm the one who's supposed to pick up the guys. And he's not half bad, either."

Arthur could feel a blush creep up his neck. This was much, much different than his village... And Arthur was starting to wonder if that was a good thing.

Alfred snorted. "Right, right. Next, Heracles." He gestured to the messy-haired brunet occupant of the couch "Architect. Sometimes. He just kinda lives on that couch most of the time." Heracles just blinked slowly at Arthur. "Lastly, little Kiku. Kid's still in high school. Don't be surprised by what he says when he's stoned- actually, be surprised if he talks at all." Kiku didn't even stir.

"Lay a finger on him and you die." Heracles mumbled, pulling him closer.

Arthur furrowed his brow. "He's... In high school? How did he end up here?"

"Well, of course..."Alfred grinned. "He came in through the bathroom window!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Right, of course. Let me guess. Protected by a silver spoon?"

Alfred laughed, and it was the most unique laugh Arthur had heard. It was loud and boisterous and wild and carefree. "Ah, I like you already! Any Beatles fan is welcome in this household. That reminds me." He glanced around and lowered his voice. "I have some tips if you want to survive here." Arthur raised an eyebrow at the mischievous gleam in his eye. "First things first. Grace Slick is strictly prohibited in the household. Unless, that is, you wish to receive a passionate strip tease from Francis here. Complete with him singing along. Though..." Alfred leaned forward and winked. "Depending on your preferences, that might be enjoyable." Arthur put his hand to his forehead, both embarrassed and flustered and almost hopeful at the same time. Yes, this place was definitely different than his village. "Next! If a huge Russian guy comes here, make sure you know _exactly_ what he's giving you if you don't want to end up a spasming mess."

Heracles let out a breath of amusement. "Good old Spinal Cracker."

"Third! If Heracles hasn't moved for four days and is not showing signs of life, well, then you can be concerned. But otherwise, he's fine. Fourth." The mirth seemed to drain from Alfred's face. "Don't go in the room at the end of the hallway." Heracles stiffened and Francis visibly flinched. "I am completely serious about this one. Fifth, if someone calls on Monday asking for Kiku, hang up. Do not on any occasion hand the phone to him. If they call on a Tuesday, I will be home. Give it to me." He noticed Kiku squeeze his eyes shut. Heracles held him tighter. Alfred's eyes blazed with anger before he closed them, sighing. "That's all, really." He turned and started toward the door. He stopped before he reached it. "Actually, one more thing." He looked back toward Arthur, his smile back in place. "If you don't want cat hair covering everything you love and hold close, keep your door closed."

The tension in the room eased and Alfred left. Arthur went back to his room to unpack his things.

Judging by the three cats asleep on his bed, Alfred's warning came a bit too late.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>

* * *

><p><em>Furry Footprints were little fuzzy footprints that were popular in the 70's. People would put them on their ceilings. Macrame was a kind of weaving that was used for pretty much everything. <em>


	2. Chapter 2

Harmony House was a small record shop across the street from the apartment that Alfred owned somehow that needed another employee. When Arthur asked how Alfred managed to buy the shop he got a roundabout answer- something about Francis' band being pretty successful and money that couldn't pay for college but could pay for other things. He took Alfred's offer on the job; it was work, and he needed work.

The shop itself was relatively normal. It was covered wall-to-wall in albums of various genres. There was a counter at the back of the room.

"Over there is the classical stuff. Not much, but we have a certain stuck-up pianist who complained about the lack of it until Francis gave in and bought some." Alfred rolled his eyes dramatically. "His... Close friend is a good customer of ours, and we were sick of him going on about the 'absence of proper music', so if you're ever craving any Vivaldi or Chopin, there you go."

Arthur nodded carefully, unsure of what else to say.

"Now, over there..." Alfred grinned. "Well, that's good music, I tell you."

Arthur followed where he was pointing and wasn't at all surprised when he saw an entire row devoted entirely to the Beatles. There was a giant poster of the members above the shelves. It looked almost like a shrine.

"You know your Beatles music pretty well, right?" Arthur half-shrugged. He knew about as much as anyone else; compared to Alfred's almost religious obsession, that wasn't much. "You can start now, then. You can open anything in the shop as long as your put it back. Our previous staff was pretty well versed on this stuff, but..." Alfred shook his head in mock distress. "It's not our fault you Brits raise your kids uncultured and unchristened."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "The Beatles came from Liverpool, which isn't far from where I come from. Of course I know enough."

Alfred laughed at that. "Come on, kid. I was joking."

"Kid? I'll have you know, I'm very much your senior." Alfred still looked like he was a teenager himself. He was just as annoying, too.

"Really?" Alfred leaned forward slightly, his hair falling in his eyes, and suddenly he was charming. "You don't look a day over nineteen."

Arthur words died on his lips. He could feel a blush creep up his cheeks, and he definitely did not think that Alfred looked positively handsome or notice how blue his eyes were. "Though it's rather rude to ask, I'm twenty-three," He cleared his throat and took a step back, finally managing to look away from Alfred's ensnaring gaze.

"Nineteen myself. Almost twenty. Not too much of a difference, eh? And besides," and now that bloody irritating grin was back in place, "you're the one who brought up age."

How did Arthur think was he charming again? "Just show me the place and leave."

Alfred resumed his tour. "Fine, fine. But I won't be leaving any time soon. Full time, except for Tuesdays."

Great. Between being irritated and confusingly captivated whenever Alfred was around he wouldn't be able to concentrate at all. Wait, no, he was just irritated. Don't think that, don't think that! "Why are you not here on Tuesdays?"

His grin faltered for a moment, but it was back in place so quickly Arthur wondered if he had really seen it. "I have business to attend to on Tuesdays. Now, here, choose something to play."

Arthur looked over the records. He didn't recognize some of them. That would undoubtedly change in a few weeks. He took Abbey Road, handing it to Alfred.

He nodded approvingly. "Good choice. Number one in the UK for eleven weeks straight. Leads me to believe you have yet to receive a complete baptism in the name of Beatle-Mania. Altogether, appropriate."

Arthur wasn't sure how to respond to that one. He just followed Alfred to the record player next to counter. A familiar song soon filled the room.

_"Here come old flattop, he come groovin' up slowly..."_

He raised an eyebrow at that. Alfred grinned again. "Look at that! It played when we met, and now it's playing again." He wagged his eyebrows. "It's fate."

He was insane. He was completely insane, so why did Arthur think this was amusing? Damn it, why was he smiling? He tried- and failed- to suppress it. "You're absolutely..." He didn't have words. He simply shook his head.

"Oh, you should do that more often. Smile." Alfred winked at him and his heart did an annoying leap in his chest. How did he go from irritating to charming so quickly? A tiny flame of hope burned brighter within him- Alfred seemed to be quite interested in him, after all- but he snuffed it just as quickly. It wouldn't do to entertain thoughts that were nothing but fantasy.

Arthur was almost relieved when the bell above the door rang. He took a moment to compose himself before turning to the new customers.

Taking up much of the doorway was a huge man in a trench coat. Between his paper-white skin and almost violet eyes something seemed a bit off about him.

Beside him was a slighter man who barely came up to his chest. He bore some resemblance to Kiku except that his hair was lighter and much longer, kept in a side ponytail. They were an... Interesting combo, that was for sure.

"Ivan! How's it going, buddy? Yao, hey!" Alfred obviously was familiar with them. He gestured at Arthur. "This here is my friend Arthur. He's the new guy who moved in." Alfred turned to him. "Arthur. I present to you Spinal Cracker and Yao. Also known as Kiku's brother. Also known as the Doobie Duo."

There was a thick silence after that. Ivan and Yao exchanged glances. Alfred broke it by laughing again. "Hey, I thought that was pretty good myself."

_"Ai ya._ Yao sighed. He looked to Arthur, smiling slightly. "Hello. I am Yao."

Ivan smiled as well, seemingly innocent. "So you are Alfred's _'friend'_?" He stressed the last word. "Yao here is my _'friend'_ as well."

"Um..." Arthur shifted his weight, slightly uncomfortable. "If you're implying anything, I-"

"Ivan, what do you need?" Alfred's voice overrode his own. With a resigned sigh, he sat behind the counter and waited for this whole thing to be over with. He might as well get used to the lifestyle here, as senseless and irritating and completely different as it was.

"_Here comes the Sun King._" Heracles raised his hand in greeting before returning sketching something out. Kiku was next to him, looking half-asleep as he leaned on Heracles' shoulder. A cat lay curled on his lap.

Alfred gave a little wave. "Where's Francis?"

Heracles shrugged. "Performing."

Alfred nodded before pushing aside the bead curtain and entering the kitchen. "I'll be in my workroom, if anybody needs me."

Arthur stood for a moment longer before sitting across from Heracles. He wasn't quite sure what to do in this house. Heracles glanced at him briefly before returning to his sketch.

Arthur tried to think of a way to start conversation. "What was the Sun King about?"

Heracles didn't look up. "Nickname. Kind of stuck, I guess." He had a certain way of speaking in clipped, quiet, almost too-slow sentences. All of his movements seemed lethargic. "It's from song. The lyrics say, _'Everybody's happy, everybody's laughing.'_" He paused, drawing a line. There was a moment before he continued. "Alfred is like the sun for us. He keeps us happy." Arthur noticed he was very blunt as well. He fell silent again.

Suddenly, Francis entered the room, a huge grin on his face. The quiet atmosphere was immediately destroyed. Arthur was still unused to the melodramatic flair Francis did everything with.

"That went marvelously!" He did a little spin before sitting in a chair with a flourish. "We'll be famous soon, I know it!"

"What's your band named?" Arthur asked. Perhaps he had heard of it before.

"Well, of course..." Francis' grin widened. "_Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band!_" He sang.  
>"Bloody hell..." Just when he thought these people couldn't be any more Beatles obsessed...<p>

"_We hope you will enjoy the show!_" Alfred ran into the room, joining in. He sat down a little too close to Arthur, still singing. God save him, Alfred couldn't sing to save his life. It sounded like he was yelling more than singing. Heracles did air drums, a trace of a smile on his face.

"_We're Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band!_" Francis sung louder, half laughing.

"_Sit back and let the evening go!_" Heracles sang and Alfred nearly shouted. Even if he couldn't sing, he looked like he was enjoying himself so much Arthur felt captivated by it. He was so lively, with a bright gleam in his eye, on the verge of laughter... Kiku shot up from his spot on Heracles.

"_I get high with a little help from my friends._"

The room was silent for a long moment as he fell back onto the couch. This was the first he had spoken the entire time Arthur was here. Everyone in this apartment was insane.

Alfred laughed, throwing his head back. "If that's what you wanna sing..." He shrugged. "_Gonna try with a little help from my friends._" Then, to Arthur's horror, Alfred turned to him. "C'mon!"

He shook his head. "No, definitely not. I can't sing at all."

His voice was drowned out by the rest of them. "_Do you need anybody?_"

He swallowed hard. They were all looking at him expectantly... Bollocks, this was madness, especially considering the next lyrics. "I need somebody to love." He sung quietly.

"_Could it be anybody?_" Did Alfred just lean closer to him?

"_I want somebody to love,_" He sang a bit louder that time. Alfred didn't look handsome, no, his heart wasn't pounding, God he was gorgeous, dammit!

"_Would you believe in love at first sight?_" Alfred was definitely getting closer to him.

"_Yes, I'm certain it happens all the time,_" Arthur breathed. For a moment, Alfred didn't continue. Their gaze remained locked. His eyes were such a gorgeous blue...

"_What do you see when you turn out the light?_" Francis continued a bit too loudly.

Alfred didn't look away. "_I can't tell you, but I know it's mine!_" He winked at Arthur before turning back to the others. "Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends!"

This whole thing was insanity, this was ridiculous, he wouldn't smile, he wouldn't... And suddenly, he burst out laughing. The rest of the room soon joined him, Alfred the loudest of all. "Don't say you can't sing."

Heracles let out a breath of laughter. "He's better than you, at least." Heracles nodded at him, cutting off Alfred's indignant remark. "Arthur. Welcome to Apartment 909."

He was starting to like it here after all, as absurd as that was.

* * *

><p><em>Doobie- slang term for joint or marijuana cigarette that was popular in the 60's and early 70's<em>

_Ai ya- a Cantonese expression of frustration, annoyance, anger, etc_

_The songs The Sun King, Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club, and A Little Help From My Friends were referenced in this, all by the Beatles._

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<br>_


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks had passed since Arthur had arrived in New York. Two weeks that had passed in a blur of ridiculous events at the apartment and strange people and clear, irritating, beautiful moments alone with Alfred in the shop. The time he was with Alfred he could remember most vividly out of almost anything else. He wasn't sure how that made him feel. In fact, he wasn't sure how Alfred made him feel in general.

Today was a Tuesday. The shop had little business- something Arthur attributed to the rain that had pounded on the window since early that morning. Alfred wasn't there, as he usually wasn't on Tuesdays. He had seemed a little nervous when the storm started that morning, but Arthur had probably imagined it.

He drummed his fingers on the counter top, looking out at the empty shop, definitely not thinking how it seemed even emptier and more unfamiliar without Alfred. It would be closing time soon. He doubted that anyone would come in the time that was left. He decided to wait a bit longer.

There was a particularly loud burst of thunder, a flash, and then the room went completely dark. He jumped in surprise, half-feeling for the light switch. Nothing happened- the power was out. He stood with a sigh of resignation, grabbing the keys from under the counter and making his way between the shelves.

When the shop was closed up, he ran across the drenched streets and into the complex. The storm seemed even more menacing inside- the hallways were dark and the thunder echoed.

Arthur found his way through the hallways he was steadily starting to recognize before reaching 909. Strangely, the apartment was completely silent.

"Alfred?" He tried the lights, but they were out here too. "Are you here?" Francis must've been out, Heracles wasn't in his customary couch position, and Kiku was at school. Maybe Alfred had left as well.

Still, he said he was going to be at the apartment the whole day. He was working on a sign. Arthur pushed past the bead curtain into the kitchen, walking past the table. "Alfred?" The workroom was empty as well, but the paint on the board Alfred had been working on seemed fresh. Strange. He walked back into the kitchen.

"...I'm down here."

From... Under the table? Yes, Alfred was under the table, his eyes wide and his knees pressed to his chest. In the meager light he couldn't see much, but he was definitely there. "What are-"

Thunder boomed overhead, cutting off his sentence. Alfred winced. "The storm. I... I don't like storms," He finished quietly.

Oh. Arthur hadn't expected that. He didn't think Alfred would be afraid of anything. Well, that he would admit to it, anyway.

He glanced around the almost pitch-dark room. He could hardly see a thing. He stood. "I'm going to try to find a candle. You stay here, I'll be right-"

He hadn't taken more than a step before he was cut off again, this time by something much different. Suddenly, Alfred's arms were around him, his body pressed to Arthur's side. Heat shot like fire from the touch, the unexpected feeling leaving him almost light headed. His heart pounded. He reminded himself to breathe.

Then he noticed how Alfred was holding him too tightly, how he was shaking and his breath came too quickly. "Are you alright?"

Alfred shook his head. "Don't like storms."

Lightning flashed outside again and Alfred tensed again, his eyes squeezing shut. He was panicking. Arthur had read about this kind of thing before- he had to calm Alfred down. "Breathe. You're okay. Just breathe."

Alfred nodded tightly, obviously struggling to slow down his breath. "Always happens." He took a few more shaky, forced breaths before continuing. "Candle's in the right drawer." He loosened his grip of Arthur's torso but still held onto his arm rather tightly.

Arthur soon found a candle along with some matches. The matches took a few tries and muttered curses in the darkness, but soon the candle was lit and Alfred's breathing slowly coming under control. He didn't let go of Arthur's arm.

They were sitting on the couch in the main room now, the candle burning before them, Alfred still holding tight and glancing warily around and the flickering shadows. Arthur noticed he wasn't wearing his glasses.

"What happened to your glasses?" His eyes seemed even more vibrant without them- a thought Arthur allowed himself to have since Alfred was so close to him and there was little hope trying to ignore it.

Alfred's breathing was almost under control, and his shaking was better, although both spiked again when thunder roared or lighting struck. "Well, when the storm got really bad I kind of freaked out and dove under the table and lost my glasses, and then the power went out..." He shrugged. "They're somewhere in there."

He almost seemed embarrassed. "We'll just have to find them later."

Alfred shuddered. "It's even creepier without them. All these shadows look like ghosts or something." His voice cracked on ghosts. He cleared his throat and looked away.

"Ghosts? Are you afraid of them?" Arthur absolutely loved ghosts- anything with dark magic he was interested in. He had a whole arsenal of horror stories he'd memorized. From Ouija boards to full-on seances, he knew it all.

Alfred was quiet for a moment. "You can't really fight against ghosts, can you? Matt always said that you can always fight against the physical. You can always find a way to win. With ghosts, you can't do that. With storms, you can't do that. Though..." He shook his head. His next words were so quiet Arthur wasn't sure they were his to hear. "He didn't win against the physical, either."

At that moment, the lights flickered back on, and Alfred let out a whoop, his huge grin back in place. But how he was a second before was burned into Arthur's mind; almost grimacing, his eyes too bright, his voice hoarse and strained. Then Alfred tackled him in a rib-crushing victorious embrace and Arthur was suddenly incredibly dizzy and his heart was pounding and oh God Alfred was on top of him. He tried to stop his thoughts from going in that direction, but it was futile, even worse than before, because that's all he could think of, how vibrant and perfect and beautiful Alfred was, and how his veins felt like they were on fire, and how his breath came a little too quickly and caught at the sound of Alfred's bubbling laughter. It wasn't the raucous laugh that he was used to, but quieter, more personal, almost.

"See? A little storm can't bring me down!" He sat up from Arthur slightly. "I'm the hero who's gonna end this war and save this great country!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. He couldn't help himself from laughing little. "Right, right, okay. Now, would you do us both a favor and get off of me?"

"Are you sure you would be doing me a favor?" Alfred leaned forward, his grin suddenly seductive, almost. "I don't mind this at all. In fact, I like this quite a bit."

Arthur could feel himself blush bright red. "Alright, getting up." Alfred laughed again as Arthur pushed him off, attempting to ignore that it took every ounce of his willpower.

"Your face is so red!" Arthur turned away at that, wanting to hide. Bloody hell, this was embarrassing. "You're really cute, you know that?"

His heart sped up at that. Arthur scoffed. "I'm not _cute_, Jones, I'm gentlemanly and handsome."

"Of course. You'll have all the American girls fawning over you, I'm sure." He winked. Why was he always winking? Why did it always have the effect on Arthur that it did? "All the American boys, too. Or, at least, one of them."

For a second, he couldn't even think. He could only stare at Alfred, his eyes wide and his face red, before he could think of a response. Alfred was the same as him. He had the same preferences. He was filled with soaring hope before common sense came into place- it was a joke. They were only joking around. That hope was following my crushing disappointment, but he tried to smother that. It was his fault for taking things so seriously. He finally found a way to respond with a sigh that sounded more lonesome than mocking. "Alfred F. Jones, you are completely insane."

Alfred's smile wavered for a second and he looked almost sad. "I don't quite think I am myself. Especially not for thinking that." Before Arthur could be sure he heard him correctly, Alfred stood and swept up the candle, starting toward the kitchen. "Now, where did I put my glasses?"

Completely and utterly insane.

.

The next day was relatively normal- nothing could truly be normal living with the kind of people Arthur did. He spent it at the record shop with Alfred, who very enthusiastically introduced him to the White Album, giving him a long lecture about how the album cover being blank _was the point and that he was incredibly ignorant for not appreciating it, but not to fear since he had such a great teacher to enlighten him._

Arthur was currently organizing a new stack of records that came in, half listening to the song that was playing; something obscene about roads that Alfred seemed to be enjoying a bit too much from behind the counter beside him. Honestly, would he ever understand that man? And this confusing mix of emotions he felt whenever Alfred was around wasn't helping either. It was getting harder to not think about how absolutely charming he was or how he always managed to make Arthur a little bit happier whenever he was around. Heracles was right. Alfred was like the sun.

And there he went again, letting his thoughts go unchecked like that...

The last chords of the previous song faded out, and the next began.

_"Who knows how long I've loved you..."_

Alfred jumped up. "Oh, this song is one of my favorites!" He extended his hand to Arthur, grinning widely. "May I have this dance, oh so gentlemanly and handsome Arthur?"

"Wh-what?" Suddenly, those thoughts were all that filled his mind, and his heart did that annoying leap. Alfred winked at him, which only made everything harder to ignore.

"Well, yesterday, you helped me, so think of it as... Reimbursement."

_"You know I love you still"_

Looking at Alfred like this, Arthur realized he truly did want to dance with him. He wanted Alfred to hold him and... Arthur crossed his arms, cutting off that thought then and there. "It seems like you'd be the one getting reimbursed."

This time, Arthur was positive Alfred was disappointed. He sighed, closed his eyes... And took Alfred's hand.

_"Will I wait a lonely lifetime? If you want me to, I will"_

Alfred laughed again, but it was the warmer kind, and pulled him closer almost immediately. He took a stuttering breath at their closeness and tried to look everywhere but Alfred's eyes. His hand was on Arthur's waist, the other in his, and all of this was too bloody distracting and his heart was beating faster than it should and he was slightly dizzy and what he hated to admit most was just how happy he was.

_"And if I ever saw you, I didn't catch your name"_

Arthur was surprised when Alfred started singing along. So surprised, in fact, he made the mistake of looking at him directly- a mistake, because, at this intimate too-close distance Arthur couldn't deny that he felt something for Alfred, something which he was afraid to explore further. He didn't want to know what he would find.

He was surprised because when Alfred sang instead of shouted it sounded almost pleasant and he really wasn't terribly bad when he tried. He really wasn't that irritating or idiotic in actuality. Arthur was starting to enjoy his company, even if it made him feel a great many strange emotions.

_"But it never really mattered; I will always feel the same"_

Alfred's hair shone gold. His eyes were swirling pale crystal. His hand was firm and warm in Arthur's.

_"Love me forever and forever, love me with all your heart..."_

Arthur noticed his cheeks were tinted pink. That the distance between them was no longer impersonal or friendly- in fact, this whole thing was never friendly, there was always something more, and Arthur couldn't deny it anymore.

And that both excited and terrified him.

The song continued on, and Alfred's hand slid from his waist to his back and his hand pulled him closer until he was almost holding Arthur. He didn't know if he wanted to push away Alfred or lean closer.

And then the song ended, and Arthur felt both saddened that it was so short and relieved, but only because he could breathe again when Alfred wasn't holding him so close.

Alfred bowed and brought Arthur's hand to his lips and for a moment he stopped thinking.

Suddenly, he was very warm, and Alfred's touch was fire, and the way he looked at him... He didn't know how to respond at all. This was too much.

He pulled back quickly with a sharp intake of breath that he hoped sounded more offended than anything else. "Alfred, that is completely overstepping the boundaries in this professional relationship."

Alfred shrugged. "Well, that's one thing to call it..." He grinned. "Dance with me again sometime?"

He was hopeless. "It's time to close up."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "That's not an answer."

He cut off a retort. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, steadied himself, and gave in. Just this once. "I think I will. That was... Pleasant."

Alfred looked ecstatic.

.

"So how did Kiku end up in your apartment again? He is still in high school, correct? And his..." He looked for the right word. He wasn't quite sure what they were. "...Friend. Heracles."

Alfred locked the door of the shop. "Well, some stuff happened that it's not my place to tell, and he ended up with us because he had nowhere else to go. I mean, he turned eighteen, like, a month ago, so there's nothing forcing him to go back." Alfred started across the busy street. "Heracles is Kiku's boyfriend."

Boyfriend. Alfred said it so casually, like it was commonplace. This city was worlds different from his village, and Arthur was relieved for it. He was tired of being alienated.

"Boyfriend?" Heracles didn't look to be much older; it made sense.

"What do you think of that?" Alfred asked it airily, not looking back at him as he entered the apartment complex. Arthur felt like there was more to the question than just simple curiosity.

"It doesn't concern me. As long as they're happy, why should I care?" It never made sense to him when people cared more than that.

Alfred grinned, stopping before door 909. "I like the way you think." He opened it and stepped around a cat laying near the entrance. Arthur followed.

The first thing that hit him was how quiet the apartment was. It was too quiet; he had never heard it this completely silent before. It was like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something. He glanced over at Alfred, who looked slightly confused.

"Yes, sir."

At Kiku's voice his face changed from confused to utterly horrified. He gasped and his hand flew to his mouth as he took a step back. For a second it seemed as if he couldn't even speak. It terrified Arthur.

He looked over at Arthur then, his eyes wide. "Yesterday was Tuesday." His voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't... Oh my god, I didn't answer the phone."

"I understand."

Alfred sprang up, running into the kitchen.

"Goodbye."

Arthur followed him, standing outside the bead curtain. Kiku was clutching the receiver, staring blankly at it. His eyes were completely empty and his face was devoid of any emotion, but he was shaking. Badly. Arthur could feel cold fear shoot through him- something was horribly, horribly wrong.

Alfred reached out to Kiku's shoulder but jerked back before he touched him. "Kiku? Are you okay? Do you need anything?" Alfred's voice trembled.

"When is Heracles getting back?" Kiku's voice was flat and monotone.

"I don't know. I think soon. I'm sorry, Kiku, I'm so, so sorry..." Alfred shook his head, almost grimacing. "It's my fault, I'm sorry..."

Kiku straightened from leaning over the receiver. "I'm going to go..." He swayed, almost falling.

Alfred caught him, immediately holding him close. "Kiku! Are you... Oh my god, I am so sorry..."

"He hates me. Why does he keep calling? I'm eighteen. I'm not their property anymore." Kiku's voice still held no emotion. "Why does he keep calling?"

"I don't know. I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Why does he keep..." Kiku's voice cracked. "Why..." He choked on the word. "I-I don't... I..." He clutched Alfred, sobbing. "They already... They..."

"It's okay. It's okay. They won't hurt you anymore. You're here, you're away from them, I'll never let them hurt you again. I don't care that they're you're parents. It doesn't matter how much money they have. You're safe here. You're okay."

Kiku held Alfred closer and the always-long sleeve of his shirt rolled up.

His arm was covered in scars.

Arthur was seeing something that he wasn't supposed to. This was too much. He turned away.

There was much, much more to these people than he first thought.

* * *

><p><em>The song I Will by the Beatles was referenced in this chapter.<br>_


	4. Chapter 4

The first day, Kiku didn't leave his room at all. Alfred called him in sick. It took most of the second day for Heracles to coax him outside and he spent the rest staring blankly at the wall with empty eyes. On the third day, Alfred succeeded in getting him to eat something. On the forth day, he panicked about the school he missed, curling up into a ball and apologizing over and over again. His eyes were faraway, distant, glazed over and terrified.

It was Sunday, five days after the call, and Heracles had just managed to get Kiku out of his room again, and he had a semblance of life in his eyes again. He even laughed at a joke Alfred made. Arthur was relieved- even if he didn't know Kiku very well, the state he was in both saddened him and reminded Arthur of himself a year before- something he'd rather not think about.

Heracles seemed to know exactly what to do when Kiku was like this. His touches were especially gentle and his voice was soft and he only talked about light things, like the strange behavior of one of the cats in the apartment or the bird that had landed on the windowsill earlier. Arthur was beginning to see that Kiku was fragile, hardly kept together, like he was made of cracked glass. His hands were always trembling and he was easily startled. He wondered just what had happened with his parents that made him like this.

It was near the end of the day and Alfred was working on his sign with Francis. Arthur was absentmindedly playing with a kitten that kept attacking his fingers. Heracles was drawing on Kiku's hands.

"Finished!" Alfred looked out of the workroom, pride obvious in his expression. He brought the sign into the main room, parading it before them.

The cardboard was painted white. _"One, two, three, four, we don't want your fucking war"_ was emblazoned across it in bolded black lettering. Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Quite the sign you've got there."

Alfred grinned and Francis half-shrugged. "You could have chosen what I always say. You know, _'Make love, not war'_."

"C'mon, Francis, that ain't even yours." Alfred laughed.

Francis soon joined him. "Even so. Do you not think if everyone had someone they loved they would realize how utterly ridiculous all this killing is?"

Alfred agreed. Kiku narrowed his eyes. "Children aren't meant to be burned."

"And they keep dying." Heracles' shook his head. "They keep dying, and nothing changes."

The mirth drained from Alfred's face. "All we can do is march and hope they hear us." He suddenly looked very tired. He sighed and readjusted his glasses.

"6:59." Francis' eyes darkened. He reached for the remote, switching on the television.

_"This is the 7:00 CBS News on the war in Vietnam..."_

Everyone in the room suddenly jumped to attention; Heracles sat up, Kiku was suddenly wide awake, Alfred leaned forward, and Francis clutched the remote until his knuckles were white. There was an air of almost desperate need around them. This was completely new to him; he was usually closing up the shop around now.

The report was of the battles begun, those won and lost, the casualties- what he expected. What he didn't expect, however, was the way the life was sucked out of the room and how completely silent and still it was.

_"...Of those battles, seventeen were killed and fifty-nine wounded. Still many more have been captured or are missing, even from battles before."_ Arthur noticed Alfred's hand fly to his bracelet. He gripped it tightly. _"That's the way it is, March eleventh, 1970. This is Walter Cronkite, goodnight."_

The room remained silent until there was a bark of laughter from Francis, harsh and painful. "That's the way it is, huh?" His eyes were too bright, his voice hoarse and strained. "Gone and dead, that's the way it is."

Kiku's head snapped up. "What is wrong with you?!" His eyes flared with uncharacteristic anger. Heracles placed a warning hand on his shoulder. "Don't you-"

"Stop!" Alfred's voice cut through them. His hand was still on his wrist and he looked like he was trying his hardest to compose himself. "You should know better than anyone that fighting isn't going to do anything, stop, please." There was something obviously wrong; his words sounded more afraid than threatening and he was holding his wrist against his chest protectively, his hand still clamped tightly around the bracelet.

Arthur felt cold dread begin to form; maybe thunderstorms weren't the only thing that caused him to panic.

"Alfred, are you-" Before Kiku could finish Alfred grabbed a ring of keys off the table and sprinted out of the room. Without a second thought, Arthur ran out after him.

"Alfred." He caught up to him. "Alfred, what's wrong?"

He wasn't listening. He kept half-running, down flights of stairs and out the complex, constantly whispering, "He's not dead, he's alive, not dead..." Arthur chased him into the parking garage next door.

"Alfred, listen, it's okay, just tell me what's wrong."

Alfred stopped before a car, unlocking the door. "Get in. Please."

"You shouldn't drive. Not when your like this."

Alfred rested his head against the car window. "Dammit, I'm fine. Just get in. I'm fine. I'll do this alone if you don't come. So please."

Arthur opened the opposing door. When they were still in the city, Alfred was completely silent, staring out the window with unseeing eyes and gripping the wheel all too tightly. When the towering buildings turned to suburbs and then to grass and forest, he spoke.

"This'll take a while." He took a sharp turn onto a dirt road lined by trees and grass. This area was completely empty- they had been driving for around an hour and the last car he saw was a while back. "It's like an oasis from the city here." Alfred still seemed haphazardly kept together. Arthur studied his face, the tightness of his expression, the blankness of his eyes, the hard set of his mouth. His bracelet clinked, his hands tightened on the wheel. A few moments passed before he thrust one towards Arthur. "Could you, please..." He trailed off before giving Arthur a small, sad smile. "Hold my hand."

Arthur took it without a second thought and Alfred immediately gripped him tightly, his hand shaking hard. Despite himself, the touch was electric.

"I always feel a lot better when you're with me. I don't know what I would do if you weren't... Probably be a sadder, I guess." Alfred laughed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm not making any sense. I should just stop talking."

Arthur stared at him, slightly wide-eyed. "No, don't stop. It's fine." He always thought he was a cranky burden on everyone- that he could make Alfred happier at all was unheard of. And there was a hope there that Alfred would say something else. What that something else was, Arthur didn't know, but he desperately, fervently hoped Alfred would say it.

"Well. Where should I start?" Some life seemed to be returning to his eyes.

"Anywhere." _Just keep talking, I love listening to you talk._ "I don't mind."

"Alright then, Kiku. I was... Friends. Yes, I was friends with him in high school." Arthur felt an unfamiliar stab of jealousy at that how Alfred said "friends". He quickly caught himself. That was ridiculous; Arthur had known him for a few weeks while Kiku must have known him for years. Years.

Bloody hell, he wasn't making it any better.

"Heracles was a year above him, same age as me, transferred from Greece. Poor kid could hardly speak English. So Kiku taught him, got him involved in the theatre, they got close. A little too close, for his parents' liking." His expression darkened. "They found them kissing, and, well, that was the end of him staying there. They kicked him out brutally." He stated it simply, like it was fact. "But, they still call every Monday and Tuesday. Gotta have something to control, I guess." Arthur couldn't imagine what kind of parents could do that to their child. Well, other than his.

"They weren't gentle about it either." Alfred broke off, squeezing Arthur's hand. He returned it. For a moment, Alfred was silent. "He... Has a lot of scars. Mentally and physically. He was under a lot of stress from his parents and he didn't exactly see a point in life for a long time." Alfred left it at that. Arthur didn't push him anymore.

He let a few minutes pass before he asked the question that had been bothering him.'"What did you mean by... Friends?" He was almost afraid of what he would hear.

"Well, that's all we were. But..." Alfred shrugged with a nervous half-laugh. "No sense in hiding it. I... Loved him."

Arthur felt like the breath was knocked out of him. Alfred loved someone else. He didn't know why this effected him so much, dammit, it shouldn't. He only knew him for three weeks. Of course there was someone else. There were others before Alfred for Arthur, too- whatever "before Alfred" meant.  
>Despite that, a small "<em>Oh<em>" was all he could manage. "Still?"

Alfred looked at him like he was crazy before bursting into laughter. "Of course not! I love-" He cut himself off. "Well, that's a story for another time."

Arthur felt both relieved and disappointed at once. He wasn't sure what the disappointment was about or where it had come from. He was expecting something, though, and that something just slipped through his fingers.

He tried to think of something else to distract Alfred with. He had almost completely stopped shaking, and his hand was still firmly in Arthur's. Speaking of his hand... "What's this bracelet? With the name?"

Alfred turned into a field, though it seemed more like he swerved. He tore the keys out of the ignition and jumped out into the field. Arthur followed.

The field rolled onward for a long while, washed white in the moon, which hung low in the sky. Atop a small hill sat a church, almost eerily glowing in the light. A few trees dotted the landscape. It was quiet but for the chirping of crickets and the faint babble of a creek. Alfred took Arthur's hand and guided him through the field and around plants he soon realized were strawberries, the flowers still buds in the early spring chill.

"Me and Matt, we used to come down here all the time as kids. It's like nothing is real here- nothing to worry about and all. It seems to go on forever, huh?" Alfred spoke with obvious fondness of this Matt- he had mentioned him before, too. "Ah, right up ahead." He pulled Arthur under a tree. It's branches seemed to reach up into the sky; fingers tipped in stardust. "This is the spot."

The tree was gnarled and cool when Arthur sat against it with Alfred. The grass whispered when the wind blew through it. The tree's buds swayed. The creek flowed on. And Alfred's facade fell away, bit by bit.

"Matthew Williams. He was my brother." His voice was so quiet Arthur had to strain to hear him. "This bracelet... Well, it's why I protest, I guess. It's a prisoner of war bracelet. He was captured and..." Alfred trailed off, shrugging his shoulders almost nonchalantly, even though his voice was thick with emotion. "He was everything to me. A role model, a father, a best friend. I didn't really have any of those growing up. He would keep me in line. I loved him more than anything. He met Francis, they moved in together, then Kiku, Heracles- it was like a big family. Maybe broken, but a family nonetheless." He drew his knees to his chest, hugging them close. "Then we got the draft letter. He came with me one last time under this tree the night before and told me, 'live, and keep living, because you don't know if tomorrow will be the best day of your life.'" Arthur noticed tears beginning to form in Alfred's eyes. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I'm just rambling now."

"No, it's alright." Arthur hesitantly put his arm around Alfred's shoulders. It seemed like the right thing to do. "Keep talking."

Alfred was quiet for a few more moments. "When Matthew was gone, I had to fill his shoes. I had to be the sun. I had to keep everything together. And it's..." He choked back a sob. "It's hard." He leaned into Arthur's arm until Arthur was embracing him and Alfred was sobbing, clinging tightly to him. "We hardly had any money. He was the smartest kid and he had such great grades. He was gonna go so far. But he quit it all and became a janitor. A goddamn janitor with a 4.0. He had just graduated high school. He did it all so I could get in college." Alfred laughed, but it was mirthless and sounded like it hurt. "And look at me now. It was never even enough money, and now I'm running away and hiding in a record shop. But I can't keep running- they're gonna find me soon, and I'll be in that fucking war."

Arthur didn't know what to say, so he held Alfred closer. He wanted to take away Alfred's worries, his fears, his sadness, so that he could the sun that he always was. He just wanted Alfred to be happy, and if this was a way he could make it better, he would stay just like this.

"I'm really afraid," Alfred whispered, "that one day I'll come home and find a draft letter on the table. What will I do then? I won't be there for Kiku, I can't help Francis, none of that. Maybe Matt won't come home- maybe the Vietcong tortured him to death, maybe he didn't have the information they wanted, I'll never know if it was from poison or torture or a bullet or-"

"Stop!" Alfred couldn't think like that. "You'll drive yourself insane!"

Alfred leaned further into his arms. "I can't help it. My mind does it to itself and I hate it." He squeezed his eyes shut, like he was trying to block out a nightmare. A few moments passed before he spoke again. "I thought Matthew was wrong when he said that tomorrow could be the best day of my life. It was the same thing every day- help Kiku if he was panicking, run the shop, come home, try to keep everyone from breaking down, rinse and repeat. Then..." Alfred trailed off. "Well, three weeks ago, you knocked on my door, and since then I started to think he was right. Everything's been better all around since you came."

Arthur didn't know what to say. It was hard to believe he could make anything better; he was simply average, a background prop, a minor character in a grand play. If anything, Alfred was the lead; that he was at all noticed was unthinkable. It was quite nice. "I'm glad."

"D'you think you could sing something for me? As a distraction." Alfred's voice was so small and weak and altogether fragile that Arthur immediately started the first song that came to his mind.

_"Who knows how long I've loved you?"_

On any other occasion, Arthur would've felt embarrassed to sing such a song, but for some reason it just felt... Right.

_"You know I love you still"_

Alfred sighed contentedly, leaning against him.

_"Will I wait a lonely lifetime?"_

Arthur closed his eyes, resting his head against Alfred's.

_"If you want me to, I will."_

* * *

><p><em>"One, two, three, four, we don't want your fucking war", "make love, not war", "children aren't meant to be burned"- all anti-war slogans in the late 60's-early 70's.<em>  
><em>7:00 CBS News- CBS would cover the Vietnam War at this time every night.<em>  
><em>Walter Cronkite- famous reporter. He would report the Vietnam war on CBS every night as well.<em>  
><em>"That's the way it is, Walter Cronkite, March eleventh, 1970"- Cronkite was famous for signing off like this. That's the way it is, Water Cronkite, and the date. That's what Francis means when he repeats the first part- he's mocking Cronkite.<em>  
><em>POWPrisoner of War bracelet- what it sounds like. Another method of protest was getting a bracelet with the name of the person captured at date of capture engraved into it._

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<br>_


	5. Chapter 5

When Alfred returned to the apartment, uproar began. Kiku trapped him in a tight hug, Francis shook his head, whispering, "_Mon dieu_, but I could not lose you both"; even Heracles was grinning. Arthur, feeling a bit awkward and unneeded, slinked back to the corner of the room and watched them. He felt a slight twinge of jealousy at the way Alfred acted toward Kiku. Alfred seemed to favor him over the others- even the way he ruffled Kiku's hair seemed more affectionate. Maybe Arthur was overthinking, or maybe he was just noticing it for the first time. Then again, being jealous was ridiculous; even if he had made a small difference in Alfred's life, he was simply a side character, Kiku was far more interesting, and-

Wait, why was he thinking like this? Being jealous over an irritating, naive American was what was ridiculous.

Even as he thought it, he knew he didn't believe it.

After the commotion was over, he and Alfred were the only ones still in the main room. Arthur began to leave toward his room but Alfred stopped him, grabbing his hand. "Wait. I..." He looked conflicted about something. "Thanks. Without you I don't know what I would've done. I don't think I could have made it back. So..." Alfred looked up from to Arthur and smiled. "Thanks. Really."

Something formed in Arthur; an unfamiliar urge that took him a moment to identify. He wanted to be closer to Alfred, to touch him, to hold him, and it was preposterous and hopeless and ridiculous but he couldn't stop it. He wasn't sure what exactly it was he felt, but it wasn't anything Alfred would reciprocate, because Alfred was beautiful and vibrant and stunning and Arthur was quiet and plain. So he simply nodded and left to his room.

He was starting to realize he was terribly, hopelessly lost, even if this place did feel more like home than his village ever had. These feelings were more foreign than America ever would be.

.

Ever since the night in the strawberry fields Alfred hardly left his mind. It was strange and unfamiliar; whenever he crossed Arthur's mind, his chest would get tight and something warm would form and he would simply want to be in Alfred's presence. Today was Tuesday, however, so Alfred was at the apartment and that want remained through much of the day.

Nothing of interest happened at the shop. When he returned home was a completely different story.

As soon as he walked in he was met with the very obvious and very strong smell of cannabis- never a good sign. What he saw was even stranger. Kiku and Heracles were on their customary couch, but Kiku was currently half-draped over Heracles like one of the many cats in the room while massaging his neck. Heracles himself had a languid smile upon his face, his eyes lidded, his head back. When Arthur shut the door, Heracles squinted at him for a moment before his grin widened and he waved him over. "C'mere, I got something to tell you." He patted the small space beside him and Arthur uncertainly sat down.

"I gotta introduce you to my cats." He looked uncertainly at one for a moment before handing it to Arthur. "Muffin, or the Depraved Door-Dasher. Always trying to get out." Arthur scratched the top of the cat's head, feeling exceedingly awkward and not quite knowing what do to with himself. "Over there is Coal." Heracles gestured lazily at a black cat sleeping on one of the couches. "And that one..."

For the next half hour or so, Heracles subjected him to learning each and every one of his cat's names, punctuated by him squinting at Arthur with bloodshot eyes or one of the cats as if he didn't quite recognize them. It finally came to an end when Kiku rose from his position, continuing to massage Heracles.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be an egg?" Kiku looked amazed. "Just imagine what it would be like!"

Heracles pondered that for a moment before he nodded vigorously, leaning back into Kiku's hand. "Proceed. Enlighten me."

"What if there's an egg heaven? Like, if you were an egg and you died." An expression of wonderment crossed Kiku's face.

"I'm sure that would be..." Heracles contemplated the paw of the cat he was holding. "Eggcelent."

Arthur wondered if it would be alright to leave yet.

Kiku suddenly froze and his eyes widened. "Heracles... I think I might be an egg."

Heracles looked shocked at that statement, too. "All this time and I never knew," he whispered.

"What if we're both eggs?"

Heracles pulled Kiku completely onto his lap, kissing his forehead. "Then I say we have an egg wedding and raise egg babies."

Kiku grinned again, resting his head against Heracles' collarbone before seemingly realizing something and looking back up at him. "If we are going to have an egg wedding we need egg names."

At this point Arthur was convinced it was time to leave. He started toward the bead curtain.

"Wait, I got it. Hereggcles."

There was a moment of silent appreciation.

"And... Kiku Hondegg."

The door to Alfred's workroom was closed. For some reason, Arthur felt nervous to even knock. He tried to shake the feeling off- this was ridiculous, this whole thing was utterly ridiculous- but it still remained. Maybe he was just annoying Alfred at this point. Maybe he was only being polite when he talked to Arthur. The past two days Arthur had oftentimes been avoiding Alfred; be didn't want to be a nuisance.  
>Before he could leave, though, the door swung inward and Alfred walked out. When he saw Arthur, he grinned. "Arthur! You're back!"<p>

Arthur's heart leapt in his chest. He looked away, clearing his throat. "Jones." He hadn't expected a reaction like that. Bloody hell. His emotions and thoughts were getting harder to keep under control.  
>Alfred laughed, throwing his arm casually over Arthur's shoulders. "C'mon, I thought we were way past formalities."<p>

His touch immediately shot through Arthur's veins and he jerked away. He wasn't used to this being so intense. His heart was even pounding.

"Sorry, that was a little forward."

Alfred immediately said, taking a step back. Arthur still refused to look at him. It would just make everything worse. "No, I..." _You make me feel a great many confusing things and I don't know how to handle them. I don't know why you've become so important to me, I don't know why being around you makes me feel like this, I don't understand any of it._ "I think I need to be alone."

"Are you okay?" The concern in Alfred's voice made him look up. His gaze was like a snare; Arthur couldn't look away. "You've been avoiding me. Did I do something?"

"No!" His voice was unexpectedly fierce. "No. I'm just... Tired," He finished lamely. Alfred didn't look convinced, but before he could say anything more the front door banged open.

"Full house! The entire stadium- booked! They loved us!" A man Arthur had never seen before ran in and jumped up on the kitchen table. He had strange white hair and reddish eyes and an air of arrogance. "We're partying tonight! The Bad Touch Trio is on it's way to stardom! Buckle your seat belts, break out the booze, ring up Spinal Cracker, and start stripping, because it's gonna be one hell of a night!"

Alfred whooped and ran forward to greet Francis and a dark-haired tanned man Arthur didn't recognize. He was quickly herded into the room for introductions.

"This is Antonio, the man with the finest ass on the planet. He's our guitarist and all the women love him." Antonio just grinned. Arthur did have to admit, he was quite handsome.

"As for me, I am the one and only Gilbert Beilschmidt, colorless as a corpse and Prussian to the bone." Gilbert did some sort of weird salute.

Arthur didn't exactly know how to respond to this. Francis had... Interesting friends, to say the least.

"Cat got your tongue?" Gilbert shrugged. "Nothing a few drinks can't sort out. And I know, my awesomeness is a bit hard to take in all at once. Alfred, get me some beers, would you?"

And that was how a few drinks later he ended up sandwiched between Antonio and Gilbert, the White Record spinning in the background, head buzzing pleasantly and quite confused. He wasn't sure where Alfred or Francis had gone- they had both seemingly disappeared.

"So what exactly do you do in the band?" Arthur felt he should at least attempt polite conversation. He was never good at social things.

"I'm the all-talented amazing and awe-inspiring star of the show, of course!" Gilbert grinned in a slightly wolfish manner before downing another beer.

Antonio rolled his eyes, laughing. "He's on drums."

"And don't you forget it." He passed another drink to Arthur. "Now, new boy, I have a few questions of paramount importance. First and foremost- how's that American dick feeling?"

Arthur almost choked. "Excuse me?!"

"Come on, we all know he's fucking you. You're all Alfred ever talks about anymore."

Now that was something Arthur truly didn't know how to respond to. A part of him was incredibly happy that Alfred talked about him- a part he pretended didn't exist- but the rest was simply shocked. "I am not getting any... _American dick_, and if I was, I would find no reason to tell you."

"Don't be crass. You're approaching this entirely the wrong way." Antonio, who had been listening closely the whole time, leaned forward and grinned. "Tell me, do you love Alfred?"

That was absurd! He didn't-

Suddenly, it clicked.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

It made sense. Everything he felt, why he acted the way he did, why Alfred was so important; it all made sense.

He had fallen in love with an _American_ man. And not only that, but a war protester, not even in college, popular, and almost four younger than him! He could be drafted tomorrow; nothing was stopping that. It was hopeless.

But at the same time, he couldn't stop it. Alfred was gorgeous and kind and lively and perfect. Alfred, who could sing if he tried and loved the Beatles and was still strong even if he was terrified. Alfred, who lost his brother and still smiled and laughed like nothing was wrong, who kept a whole broken household together like family. Who talked to him and held him and looked at him like he was the only person in the world.

Arthur loved him. He was desperately, beautifully, hopelessly, wonderfully in love with Alfred.

Arthur buried his face in his hands. "Pass me another drink."

.

"YOU'RE MASSACRING MY INNOCENT BABIES!"

The anguished scream made Arthur jump and Antonio stop mid-sentence in his animated story about some Italian boy and both turn toward the kitchen. Gilbert had recently gone there to pillage the cupboards in avid search of something to eat.

"I TRUSTED YOU! YOU'RE RUINING MY MARRIAGE, GILBERT- RUINING IT!"

The shout was from... Kiku? He was usually so soft-spoken; this was incredibly strange. Arthur went toward the kitchen, or at least tried to. The damn room was spinning and he found it hard to keep his footing.

The sight he was greeted with was, well, something. Gilbert held a frying pan with an egg in one hand, his other raised defensively. Kiku was almost throwing himself at Gilbert, still screaming, while Heracles held him back, horrified.

"Kiku, let's sit down and discuss this." Antonio cut in. "I may be able to save your relationship. _Dios_, what are they on..."

Heracles whirled around as Kiku crumpled to a ball, still staring at Gilbert with wide, unbelieving eyes. "He's a MURDERER, Antonio! I'm calling the cops. He should be hanged. Burned at the stake!"

Antonio sighed. "Heracles, please."

"Listen man, I was just trying to make some eggs..."

At that moment, the record changed songs, and familiar drums played before the lyrics started.

_"Why don't we do it in the road?"_

Alfred let out an unmanly scream from behind the couch and leaped up. "Holy shit! I LOVE this song!" His hair was wild and his grin huge. "I LOVE THIS SONG!"

And then he promptly ripped off his shirt, jumped onto the coffee table, and immediately began pelvic thrusting.

And that's when things stopped making sense.

For a full minute all Arthur could do was stare at Alfred. He was surprisingly muscular, more than a little drunk, probably slightly insane, but still perfect. He looked so incredibly alive and full of life and he was so captivating and Arthur suddenly had every reason to love him- he was Alfred, and that meant everything.

Then the song faded out and the next started.

_"Who knows how long I've loved you..."_

Then Alfred looked at Arthur with a certain gleam in his eye and jumped down from the table.

At that exact moment, the front door opened, releasing several cats and letting in that couple from before, Ivan and Yao.

"Spinal Cracker has arrived! Everyone get your drugs!" Yao grinned as he examined his customers. Ivan took out a variety of suspicious bags and gave his customary, innocent-as-a-lamb smile.

Then, suddenly, Alfred was pulling him along to the couch. He was glad to be off his feet and the swaying ground, though the couch wasn't much better. "No matter what you do, stay away from whatever they try to give you." His arm was draped around Arthur's shoulders, holding him close almost protectively against his bare chest. He was shirtless. Arthur couldn't say anything; his heart was beating far too quickly and everything felt like fire, especially Alfred.

"Alfred's _friend_!" Arthur looked up to see Ivan looming above him and holding out a joint with his innocent smile. "The Magical Mystery Tour is waiting to take you away."

Arthur blinked up at him uncertainly. He kept moving around and splitting in two. Before he could respond, Alfred declined with a quick wave of his hand. "You're drunk enough without him. How much did you have?"

Now that was a good question. After his revelation he had thrown caution to the wind and had no idea. "I'm not drunk."

Alfred snorted. "Whatever you say."

Suddenly, Gilbert burst into the room with Heracles in close pursuit, hugging a record close to his chest. He got tangled in the head curtain and ripped it down completely before racing to the record player and quickly taking of the White Album and replacing it with his before attempting to dodge Heracles' tackle and falling to the ground.

"YOU KILLED MY BABIES YOU-" He began screaming in Greek. "φάουλ άνθρωπος πόρνη!"

Kiku stood in the now bead-less doorway. "Get him! Get him!"

This seemed like they were on a bit more than just weed.

"Man down!" Gilbert tried to escape but Heracles held him down. Then, the music began. "Francis, do your thing!"

And then Arthur recognized the music. Grace Slick. White Rabbit, to be exact.

Francis pushed past Kiku and unzipped his pants.

.

And then Arthur woke up in his room.

The first thing he noticed was how his head was pounding. The next thing he noticed was that he was incredibly thirsty. And the last thing was that someone was holding him.

He opened his eyes.

A very shirtless someone.

He shot up then winced at how his head responded. Alfred stirred, blinking slowly. He saw Arthur and grinned. "Hey."

That's all he would say?! "How did you get here? Why are you here?!"

Alfred rubbed his eyes, stretching. Even with his hair disheveled and half-asleep he was gorgeous. "There's a glass of water on the nightstand."

"Don't avoid the question!" He grabbed the glass, however, draining it quickly.

"I assure you, I did nothing." Alfred laughed. "Things got pretty crazy and I think you blacked out or something so I took you here."

Arthur gave him a look. "And you're here why...?" It wasn't that he was upset, really, only that his heart was pounding faster than it should be and he could feel his cheeks burning.

"Well, that's..." Alfred didn't meet his eyes. He seemed embarrassed. "Since everything was wild out there I thought I should protect you." He mumbled. He laughed nervously. "That's pretty weird, huh? Sorry."

"No, it's not weird at all." Arthur felt that same hope from before blossom, the hope for something he was beginning to identify. But this time, he didn't suppress it. He pushed onward. "Why?"

"Why? You're asking a lot of questions today."

Arthur gathered his courage. "Why would you want to protect me?"

"That's because..." For the first time Alfred looked nervous. "I never meant to tell you, but I think I..." His voice was quiet. There was a moment of silence before he looked up, determined. "I love you."

The tides could rise, the sun could explode, the world could end, and Arthur wouldn't notice, because all that was his world was this moment. Alfred was the sun, his laugh was like the wind, his smile was like air, his touch like fire.

Alfred was everything.

He lost the ability to speak, to move, all he could do was stare at Alfred with his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes wide. His emotions had rendered him speechless, this mix of exhilaration and hope. "Oh," He breathed. It was all he could say.

"Of course, you don't have to respond, this was really unexpected, forget I-"

Arthur cut him off by leaning forward and kissing him. He didn't think of what he was doing; it just felt right. And when Alfred kissed back his world ended and began again, when Alfred held him closer and tangled a hand in his hair his veins turned to fire, and he was filled with elation, ecstasy, emotions indescribable. "Oh, God, I love you." Arthur whispered. "I love you."

And then, just like that, it ended.

The door to his room flew open. "Hey have either of you seen Kiku? He's-" Gilbert trailed off before a maniac grin spread across his face. "You ARE getting American dick!"

Alfred sighed. "Well, it can't be helped." He gave Arthur an apologetic look. "Could you help me find him? He was obviously on a little more than weed last night."

Oh, Arthur did find him.

Kiku was in the bathtub, buried under twenty-seven frozen pizzas.

* * *

><p><em>The songs Why Don't We Do It in the Road, The Magical Mystery Tour (both by the Beatles), and White Rabbit (by Grace Slick) were referenced in this.<em>  
><em>Mon dieu- My god<br>φάουλ άνθρωπος πόρνη- Foul man whore_

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<br>_


	6. Chapter 6

The next two weeks was the busiest Arthur had ever seen the apartment. The first three days were lethargic- everyone was recovering from the party, especially Kiku and Heracles, both of whom didn't remember a thing. Yao and Ivan left immediately, Gilbert and Antonio hung around for a while after it, and Arthur spent most of it terribly hung over. After that, everything sprang into motion. There was going to be a protest on Wall Street and everyone was preparing for it.

Everyone but Arthur. He spent most of it in the shop. After all, he had only recently moved to America; he didn't have very strong views on anything here.

Alfred would drop in, too, every so often. It was Arthur's favorite part of the day.

It was hard to believe that Alfred loved him- after all, Arthur was quiet and kept to himself and wasn't anything near the dazzling vitality that was Alfred. Alfred was so popular and spirited and yet he still chose Arthur. He wasn't used to being someone's first choice or favorite or any of that and it all was baffling. All he knew was that Alfred returning his affections made him incredibly happy.

He was currently in the closet, looking for another copy of a record that had just sold. The closet was full of shelves with an assortment of replacement records, right behind the counter. It had been a bit of a slow day; he had only a few customers.

"Hey, darlin'." A pair of warm arms embraced him from behind. "What're you up to?"

Arthur's heart leapt. Alfred's nicknames and open affection still caught him by surprise. It was something he doubted he'd ever get used to. "I'm looking for a record." He tried to move to the next shelf. "You're a bit in the way."

Alfred's arms tightened around him. "That can wait."

"Not this again." Arthur laughed. Alfred was the only person who could make him laugh so easily. Alfred had been coming in every day and trying to sneak in a kiss or to hold him as much as possible- and Arthur definitely didn't mind. "I actually have work to do, you know."

"Hey, saving this country is quite the job, you know." Alfred was indignant.

Arthur turned around to face him. "Still convinced you're the hero of America?"

Alfred leaned forward in that charming way he did, his hair falling perfectly over his eyes, his eyes gorgeous and captivating. "I'll stop this war and be yours, too."

And then Alfred kissed him and nothing else mattered. All that existed was Alfred, his hands, his lips, his tongue. Arthur could stay like this forever. It was still as electric, as breath-taking, as perfect as it was the first time and Arthur didn't think he would ever grow accustomed to any part of Alfred. It would take a lifetime to- and a lifetime with Alfred didn't sound too bad.  
>Alfred broke the kiss, moving down to his neck.<p>

"Arthur! I knew you were not just friends!"

Alfred stumbled back, face bright red. Arthur cleared his throat, straightening his collar and turning to the person in the doorway. Every time they were interrupted. First Gilbert, now this.

Ivan stood towering above them, grinning innocently. Yao craned his neck, trying to see around him. Ivan put his arm around Yao, bringing him forward. "Yao is not really just my friend, either."

Yao buried his face in his hands. "Ivan, you don't have to do this, you know."

Ivan's smile grew. "Why should I not? I'm proud of having you."

"Is there anything you need, or is this visit meaningless?" Arthur was more than a bit annoyed at being interrupted and he did have work to do. He just wanted them out the door before Alfred had to go back.  
>"I wanted to know about the protest." Ivan's smile suddenly dropped. "You are attending, yes?"<p>

"Of course! I've been going all these years." Alfred grinned proudly.

Ivan wasn't looking at Alfred, though. His eyes were fixed on Arthur- eyes, he noticed were almost purple in color- and Arthur all of a sudden felt terrified. Ivan's gaze was like a snake's, cold and petrifying. "Probably," Arthur finally forced out.

And then, Ivan's harmless smile was back in place. "I will see you then."

After they left, Alfred reached over and took Arthur's hand, intertwining their fingers. "Sorry about that. Ivan's a little intimidating sometimes."

That was the biggest understatement Arthur had heard.

.

Three days before the protest, Arthur learned just what the room at the end of the hallway was.  
>"You can see if you want." Alfred seemed a little shaken as he turned the knob. "I mean, it's nothing special. I just thought you should know what it is."<p>

"You don't have to show me if you don't want to."

Alfred shook his head. "You should know."

It was a normal bedroom. There was a Beatles poster on one wall beige wall above a bed, a small desk against another. Upon it was a polar bear stuffed animal, a pile of letters, and a photograph. Pushed against the wall was a pair of hockey skates and a hockey stick.

Arthur looked to Alfred for permission to enter. This room felt too personal, too precious, like he was intruding upon something sacred. Alfred nodded, and he proceeded toward the desk.

The photograph was Alfred and a man Arthur had never seen before. They looked remarkably similar, only this man had longer hair and darker, gentler eyes.

It dawned on him.

This was Matthew's room.

He looked over to the letters. There was an address at the top- Saigon, Vietnam. Alfred stopped him from touching them.

"I haven't since we... Got word." Alfred's eyes were dark and pained.

Arthur snatched his hand back. "Oh, of course." How terrible it must be, to have his brother torn away from him like this. He reached over and took Alfred's hand in his. Alfred squeezed it. He tried to find something else to say. "He liked hockey?"

Alfred's face lit up. "He loved hockey. More than anything. He wanted to be a professional player before he got..." And then the light was gone, and Alfred seemed to withdraw far within himself. "It's so unfair." He whispered. "Matt didn't even want to fight. He hated the war. He was always for peace, he said we were just killing innocent civilians, it's all pointless. It's all fucking pointless. And he had to go and kill those people, fight for a cause he didn't support. How could he have felt?" Tears were starting to form in Alfred's eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I just..." He looked away. "I miss him." His voice trembled. "I can't help thinking what it would be like if he was still here. He was such a gentle kid, he never would hurt anyone..."

Arthur held Alfred as he collapsed into sobs. He didn't know what else he could do- it hurt him to see Alfred like this. He couldn't even imagine what Alfred himself felt. And he was constantly bottling all this away to be strong for the rest of them; he was incredible. Arthur was the luckiest man in the world for having Alfred by his side.

What would they ever do if he was gone?

.

And then the day came.

Arthur didn't know what to think. He didn't really feel anything at all toward the war- this wasn't his country. He had only been here for a month and a half. The war had never taken anyone important from him like Francis or Alfred; it held no threat to him. He had no reason to protest it.

The vehemence that the rest had preparing for it was strange to him, though he understood why. If the war had stolen someone from him like that he would be furious.

Arthur spent most of the day in his room, reading a book he found or playing with one of the many cats. The apartment outside was bustling with activity. Arthur had retreated here since he was never good with loud noise and he felt terribly out of place.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in." Arthur marked his page and turned to face who he thought would be Alfred.

It wasn't. Francis strode in instead, leaning against the wall. "I hear you aren't coming."

Arthur furrowed his brow. What was this about? "That's correct. I'm not."

Francis' eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Arthur could think of a whole list of reasons. He couldn't stand crowds. It would be loud. He didn't have anything to fight for. Before he could say any of them, Francis continued.

"We've been working night and day for this cause. You might as well show a little respect by coming along." Francis' voice was hard steel.

"That's the thing, you see." Arthur turned back to his book. "I don't have a cause."

Francis stared at him coldly for a few more moments before whirling around and stomping out of the room, closing the door with a bit too much force. He was being uncharacteristically distant and fierce- but then again, he had lost Matthew. Arthur would probably act the same or worse if he lost Alfred.  
>Long after they had gone, Francis' words echoed in his mind and he soon was too distracted to continue reading. They were all out there, fighting to stop this war, and he was just here, reading. People were dying.<p>

Arthur buried his face in his hands. What was he thinking? He wasn't even a citizen here.

This war would never affect him.

.

They returned arguing about something.

"I can't believe this! We have our right to protest, the police have no place there!"

"Alfred-"

"We're peaceful protesters, too! Watch, next they're going to start attacking us!"

Arthur went to the main room to see what was happening. Alfred was pacing angrily around the room while Kiku tried to console him. Francis stood sullenly to the side. Heracles was going through the mail beside him, seemingly uninterested.

"Everyone is done with this war bullshit. We have a voice in this. Nixon isn't the one having to fight for it!"

Heracles shrugged. "If Nixon's responding like this we're being heard by someone. Mail for you, Alfred."

"What happened?"

Suddenly, all eyes were on Arthur. Francis shot him a cold glare. He shifted uncomfortably.  
>"Tell him, Kiku. I'm done with this." Alfred ripped the letter out of Heracles' hands, retreating to a corner in the room.<p>

"The police came and forced us to stop. Alfred thinks they arrested some people. I didn't see." Kiku averted his eyes. "I'm not sure about that, but I don't think-"

Kiku was cut off by Alfred gasping, dropping the letter and stumbling back. His eyes were wide and he was shaking his head over and over again, his breath coming shallowly. His face was contorted in terror.  
>Arthur quickly retrieved the letter from the ground, immediately scanning it.<p>

_To: Alfred F Jones_

_Greeting:_  
><em>You are hereby ordered for induction into the Armed Forces of the United States, and to report at Assembly Room- 15th Floor, Federal Building on April 2nd at seven A.M. for forwarding to an Armed Forces Induction Station.<em>

Arthur read over the letter so many times the words stopped making sense, blended together, bled apart, denying what they meant. Everything was spinning and going too fast, too slow, nothing made sense, sick dread crawled under his skin, he was going to vomit. He couldn't breathe. He looked up bewildered at the conversation going around him, but he couldn't make sense of what they were saying. The letter was taken from him but he couldn't stop it. He couldn't move. His limbs were frozen in place. He was a statue of pounding heart and pierced lung and disbelief. When he regained control of his shaking body, he could only whisper one thing.

"But you were never examined."

Alfred's eyes were dark and distant and guilty. "Yes, I was. About a week before you came."

This was wrong. Alfred returned his affections, something he never dreamed of happening- now they were supposed to have their happy ending. "What did you get?"

Alfred averted his eyes, turning away.

"Alfred?" Arthur knew he sounded desperate, insane, but he didn't care. This couldn't be happening to him, this was something he would read about, this wasn't real life. "Alfred, tell me what you got!"

Alfred's voice was quiet when he finally spoke. "1-A."

_Stupid, stupid, stupid Arthur._

_Happy endings don't exist in real life._

His world fell apart into pieces, closed in around him, suffocating him, until everything stopped. His mind stopped, his emotions stopped, everything but his body.

He ran.

This war was never supposed to affect him.

.

Arthur didn't know where he was running, only that he had to keep moving. His brain screamed a million different things, telling him to go back, that Alfred needed him, that he was being selfish, but his body didn't listen. It simply kept running onward, through the crowded streets, into the unknown.  
>April 2nd was in two days.<p>

He had two days before his light, his air, his love would be taken from him to fight a war he despised.  
>Why hadn't he protested today? Arthur could see now. This was happening to so many different families because of this idiotic war and all he had done was think how it wouldn't affect him and didn't matter.<p>

He was being so disgustingly selfish, he couldn't believe it.

How had Alfred ever loved someone as wretched as he?

And then his mind went silent and all that existed was the pounding of his feet on the pavement.

When he came to his senses again, he was at the harbor. He felt glued to the spot, unable to move as people parted around him, frozen in a world of movement.

When he was last here, he didn't know what to expect. All he had known before was a quiet village and a stormy shipyard and that he needed to escape. He thought that there wasn't anywhere he'd ever feel at home- it surely wasn't with his family who rejected him or a village full of people who treated him like he was a blight on their community. He didn't know there were people who were so accepting and friendly. He didn't know what a home felt like.

What would it be like to just go back home to England and forget any of this ever happened?  
>No. No, England wasn't his home.<p>

Apartment number 909 was the only place that ever felt like a home to him. Alfred made him feel welcome from the first time he was there, like he was normal, like he was human.

He could never, ever forget Alfred.

Arthur turned around.

He had a home to return to.

.

The next two days went both too slow and too fast. They seemed to creep past agonizingly, torturing him with the thought that Alfred was going to be gone. They also seemed to rush past too quickly since he knew every moment he had with Alfred was one of his last.

Alfred himself wasn't the same. He still acted just as cheerful around the others, but when he was alone, he got quiet, solemn. Arthur found him crying once. He couldn't imagine what Alfred was feeling.  
>And then, April 1st came to a close. Arthur tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about the fact that in a few hours Alfred would be gone. He tried not to think of how Alfred would be forced to fight in that war.<p>

He tried not to think of how Alfred could die.

It was impossible to stop it completely. Arthur tried to busy himself at Harmony House or reading or doing something, anything, to keep him from giving in to the dark despair that beckoned to him. He couldn't imagine what Alfred was battling right then.

It was late at night and Arthur couldn't sleep. Nighttime was when Arthur didn't have anything to busy himself with and was left with only him and his thoughts. Alfred could get permanently wounded. He could get captured.

He could die.

What would he do if Alfred died? He wasn't sure. He didn't want to consider it. He couldn't consider it. It was out of the question. Alfred would live.

There was a knock at his door. "Yes?"

Alfred poked his head in. "Hey." He smiled apologetically, embarrassed. "I can't sleep. Could I come in with you?"

Arthur could feel his face turning red. He hoped it was too dark to notice. "Yes, of course. There's room."  
>Arthur tried to regulate his breathing and heartbeat as Alfred climbed in beside him. No matter what circumstance, no matter where they were, Alfred always had this effect on him. It was like magic.<br>For a moment, Alfred simply laid there. He began to move close to Arthur, first, simply grasping his hand, then moving closer, but by bit, until his arms were wrapped around Arthur and he was enveloped in Alfred's scent and warmth and everything came out.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Alfred." It was a broken whisper. "I'm sorry any of this happened. Matthew, being drafted, all of it. It's unfair. You don't deserve this at all." His voice was trembling. He wouldn't cry. He hadn't cried in front of anyone for as long as he could remember.

Alfred held him closer. "It's alright." His voice didn't sound alright. "You can cry. It's human."

Arthur buried his face in Alfred's chest, feeling tears begin to form in his eyes. Alfred was such a kind person. Alfred was so beautiful, so understanding and strong, emotionally and physically. There would never be anyone like him.

"What could I do that would make it better?" Alfred's voice was quiet and pained. Even now he was still trying to help other people.

Arthur said the first thing that came to mind. "Sing."

"Okay." Alfred took a deep, trembling breath. "_Close your eyes, and I'll kiss you,_" He sang quietly. "_Tomorrow I'll miss you, remember I'll always be true._" His voice cracked on tomorrow. "_And then while I'm away, I'll write home every day, and I'll send all my loving to you._"

Arthur could feel the tears threatening to spill over. Alfred held him tighter. "_I'll pretend I am kissing the lips I am missing, and hope all my dreams will come true._" His voice was getting shakier. "_And then while I'm away,_" The verse was broken by a choked back sob. "_I'm write home every day..."_

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and remembered the first time they'd met, when they'd danced in the shop, when Alfred bared his soul to him in the fields. He remembered the warmth of his smile, the sound of his laugh, how he really was like a ray of sunlight. It was so unfair, to have someone as bright and beautiful as Alfred arrive in his life and be torn away so quickly when he needed him most. He could be irritating at times, and loud, and overbearing, but he didn't mean it. He was just young and naive and God, this war would ruin him. He couldn't take this. This was too much.

"_And I'll send all my loving to you..._"

When Arthur awoke, Alfred was gone.

* * *

><p><em>The song All My Loving is referenced in this chapter. Also of note:<em>

_Nixon: President at the time, Richard M. Nixon_  
><em>1-A: The reason that this was so prominent is that people examined could get a variety of number-letters assigned to them. 1-A means the person examined is fit for combat and will serve immediately on the battlefield.<em>


	7. Chapter 7

_22 April 1971_

_Dear Arthur,_

_They didn't believe me when I said I was gay. They said my paperwork didn't say that, even though I'm certain that I told them at the examination. I'm sorry. I'm not coming home._

_I'm just about to ship out to Saigon. I'm not sure how long I'll stay there before I'll be in the jungle. I'll write to you whenever I can._

_Love, Alfred_

_._

_2 May 1971_

_Arthur,_

_Saigon is a huge city. It's crazy hot and the food is terrible, but altogether it's not too bad. It's really interesting to see how the Vietnamese live._

_The people in my infantry are all very different from each other. One of them is tall, blond, real quiet. Everyone else is afraid of him, but he ain't so scary. He hardly talks, but when he does, it's all about his wife he left behind. I like him._

_I sure miss you all. How's Kiku doing? Is the Bad Touch Trio getting famous yet? I'm sure they'll be on the radio any day._

_I miss you the most. I'll get through this just to get back to you._

_Love, Alfred_

.

_15 May 1971_

_Xin Chào! That's hello in Vietnamese._

_Saigon is no New York, but I like it. There's a radio station that plays music from back home and they played our song. I totally would've sang along if I hadn't gotten in trouble for that last time. Hah, guess they don't understand good music._

_The people are nice enough, even though my sergeant says any of them could be Viet Cong. I don't know how to feel about that. The enemy could be any of these people._  
><em>That man I told you about last time, Berwald, I found a picture of his wife, and it didn't look like no wife. It was a man; blond hair, blue eyes, big grin on his face. Berwald seemed real scared when he knew I found the picture, but then I told him about you. He still refers to the man as his wife- his name's Tino. We have more in common than I thought.<em>

_We're gonna ship out to the jungle tomorrow. I'm real scared. I don't wanna fight these people. I don't wanna fight in this war. I just wanna come home and be with you._

_Love always, Alfred_

_._

_27 May 1971_

_War is hell. You hear that everywhere, but it's true. War is absolute hell. They whip up all this stuff about glory and fighting for your country and being a hero but it's all bullshit. Complete bullshit. When your out there, all that disappears, and you're not fighting for your country anymore or your family or anything. You're just trying to save yourself._

_Yesterday was the first time my squad made contact in daylight. I can't even say what it was like- a mix of confusion, fear, anger, disgust, and death. It ain't what you see in the movies. No one gets a dramatic, noble death or any last words. There's a gunshot, a dart, an explosion, and they're gone. I can't even put it into words._

_They say we're the lucky ones, me and Berwald. We're still alive with hardly more than scratches. I don't know if I believe that. We're the ones still alive to talk about those five hours of hell._

_Arthur, I'm sick of this shit. I would do anything just to hold you right now. I'll get through this if it means I can kiss you again._

_All my love, Alfred_

_._

_4 June 1971_

_They don't tell you how many people really die. They don't tell you half of what goes on in this damned war._

_Berwald got grazed by a bullet yesterday, on his shoulder. They said it wasn't bad enough to be taken out of combat. He doesn't like that, since really wants to go back to Tino. He's gotten real quiet since the fighting's started._

_I completely understand him. All I can think of is getting back to you, to all of you. Yesterday during a break a soldier was singing Golden Slumbers. The lyrics say "once there was a way to get back homeward". I'm starting to wonder if there will be a way for me to get home. The days here go on forever, and the nights are even longer. Home seems impossible now._

_You are the only thing that gets me through this. You're on my every thought. I love you. I'll never stop loving you. Wait for me, because I'll get through this, I'll come back. I'll be your hero._

_Love forever, Alfred_

_._

The letters were the only thing that got Arthur through this. He had read each one more times than he could count. They were all stacked on his nightstand so there was a piece of Alfred nearby him.

With each letter Alfred seemed to become more serious. Arthur couldn't stand that Alfred was out there fighting every day, risking his life, all for a cause he didn't believe in, while all he could do was write back. Arthur understood why Alfred protested now. This war had no right to take Alfred away from him. It had no right to take anyone away.

For the past few months, Arthur fell into a cycle- work at the shop, come home, look for letters, sleep, repeat. It was so dull, boring, lifeless, grey. It was like Alfred brought color into his life. He could hardly remember what it was like without him. His most vivid memories were when Alfred was with him. Arthur definitely wasn't prepared for just how much he would miss him.

Arthur was in the shop, serving a customer, surrounded by memories of Alfred. Abbey Road was playing, Golden Slumbers drawing to its conclusion.

_"Once there was a way to get back homeward, once there was a way to get back home."_

Harmony House had gotten busy since Alfred left. Arthur threw himself into the work to keep from thinking about what Alfred had to face. How he could die any day, how he could be terribly wounded, how he could never come back-

Arthur focused on the music, on ringing up a record the customer had brought him, anything but those thoughts. Nothing good came of them. The music swelled, faded, came to it's end.

_"Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby."_

The shop emptied and Arthur collapsed into a chair. It was quiet in the shop without music or customers.

Quiet. It was so, so quiet without Alfred. There wasn't any carefree laughter, any terrible puns, any outrageous humor. Alfred really was like the sun, and with him gone, it was dark, silent, night.

Everyone in the apartment seemed to feel it's affect. Francis was suddenly much less flamboyant, Heracles almost silent, and Kiku almost scared. Alfred was like his solid ground, what he drew strength from; with him gone, Kiku just seemed lost.

Arthur began to close up the shop. It was getting late and he needed to be home soon. He didn't like to leave- here, he felt like Alfred was close to him. There were reminders of him everywhere, in the music he played, in the storage room, in the shop itself. Alfred didn't feel so far away then.

He couldn't stay forever, though. He left.

At home, he was greeted by the aroma of delicious food- Francis was cooking. Arthur was banned from the kitchen after the disaster of his first attempt. Heracles was helping Kiku with his homework. Arthur looked around the room, searching for a letter. It had been over two weeks since the last one. "Any letters?"

Heracles shook his head, putting his arm around Kiku, who flinched at the question. Kiku had seemed overly sensitive after this large of a gap. Alfred was surely just caught up in something- maybe he didn't have time to write from all the fighting. Arthur wouldn't let himself consider the other alternative.

The phone rang, jolting Arthur from his thoughts. He went over to it unthinkingly and was about to answer when Kiku stopped him. "Wait!" His face was hard, set in determination. "I'll answer it."

Heracles reached out to stop him. "Kiku, are you sure about this? You know what happened last time."

"I'm certain. I can't live my life afraid anymore." His eyes were full of fire. "I won't let them be able to break me anymore. Alfred's gone, and he can't protect me anymore. I have to do this."

It was Tuesday. Francis had taken over dealing with Kiku's parents since Alfred had gone; he had almost forgotten about it. Arthur was hesitant. "Are you really certain?" He had seen what happened to Kiku when he tried to talk to them last.

"Positive." With a sharp nod, he took the phone.

The room was silent. Francis watched from the doorway.

"Hello, sir."

He wasn't going to make it.

Kiku's eyes were wide already, his face ashen. He flinched as his father began talking. "Yes, of course, I understand." His hand began to shake. The voice on the other hand got louder and louder and Kiku looked like he was about to break down. Arthur could pick out parts of what the man was saying. "Come home now... Not letting you go that easily..." Then, it switched to a language he didn't recognize, getting louder and angrier.

"Sir, sir, I can't..." Kiku was crying. He was actually crying, tears rolling down his face. "Dad!" The voice stopped abruptly. "I can't speak Japanese. You know that." His voice became lower. "You know I was never the son you wanted." The voice said something else, and Kiku looked like he was about to fall over.  
>Then, Heracles took Kiku's free hand and whispered to him. Arthur was close enough to hear what it was.<p>

"I believe in you."

Kiku clutched the receiver so hard his knuckles turned white. "No," he whispered. "No, you're wrong! You're wrong, your wife is wrong, and I'm right! I'm not coming back to you!" Each word gained more strength. "I'm eighteen years old and you can't control me anymore." His eyes widened as he realized what he just said. "You can't control me anymore!" He shouted. "So, get the hell out of my life. I don't need you. Don't call me anymore. Don't ever try to talk to me again. Don't try to be my father anymore... 'Sir'." He spat. "You never were. Get out."

He slammed the receiver down. The room was in awestruck silence. Arthur didn't know Kiku had that kind of strength in him- it was incredible.

"I did it." He turned around, looking at each of them in turn. "They can't control me anymore." Tears formed in his eyes again, tears he desperately tried to keep away. "I..."

Heracles pulled him into an embrace. "Good job. I'm so proud of you." He held Kiku tighter as he began sobbing. "So proud..." His voice was unlike any way Arthur had heard him speak before. Trembling, thick with tears.

It seemed some wounds were not so easily healed.

.

Silent.

The room was silent.

Nothing was on the record player. Kiku had hollow, empty eyes, and Heracles didn't say a word. Francis' head was in his hands. Arthur's world had gone from loud to quiet to absolutely silent in just four months.  
>Arthur felt like he was frozen, like he was moving through cement. He was afraid to breathe or make any noise- it would destroy the false tranquility that laid over them. This didn't seem real. It was dreamlike, almost as if he was watching through someone else's eyes.<p>

He had come home from the shop to this silence, this terrible, dreadful, unbearable _silence_.

Arthur didn't understand why "quiet" was synonymous with "peaceful". This silence was anything but.

He took a breath, and the dream shattered, turned to nightmare, turned to reality. Why was everyone so quiet? What happened? Arthur scanned the room for something, anything. It was Alfred. It had to be Alfred. Was it another letter?

He spotted a sheet of paper on the table. He snatched it up, devouring the words. He didn't notice it was from the Red Cross, didn't notice what hospital it was from, only focused on the small paragraph on the page.

_"We regret to inform you that Alfred F. Jones has been wounded in combat."_

He had read it wrong. This was just a bad dream. That's why it felt like he was punched in the stomach, like he was being choked with icy fingers. That was the reason it felt like his heart was breaking.

_"He has suffered multiple wounds and is running a high fever."_

That's why nothing on the page made sense. Alfred was fine. Alfred was alive and well somewhere with Berwald in Vietnam, listening to soldiers singing Beatles songs and learning Vietnamese greetings.

_"There is a low chance of survival."_

That's why he was going to die.

He was going to die.

And then it wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare. No, this was worse than a nightmare. It was reality.

Die.

Why, why, why was it that all of a sudden, everything was too loud and too quiet, everything was overpowering and yet too little, because Alfred was gone, he was slipping away, the world should be ending, why wasn't he screaming, why wasn't he crying, why? Why was it that when the letter crumpled in his fingers it was the only sound he could hear, whispering and roaring, falling to the ground? Why was it that the letters stopped coming and he was brought this instead? This was worthless, useless, Alfred was a good man, he was so honest and wonderful and all of a sudden he was ripping the paper into pieces, watching it fall to the floor, shredded and torn and destroyed.

Just like his heart.

* * *

><p><em>The song Golden Slumbers was referenced in this.<br>_

_Saigon was what Ho Chi Mihn city was called until 1975._


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur wasn't sure what happened after that. He wasn't sure if he shouted, if he cried, all he knew was that everything turned black. When he woke up the next morning, he drank. He drank and drank until the blackness came back and took him again.

Arthur didn't care anymore. He had nothing to care about. Alfred was gone.

Over the next few weeks, he threw himself into protest work. He hated the war. He hated the government. He hated everything. The protests were the only thing that mattered to him, and damn the rest.

He couldn't stand being in the shop anymore. Everything reminded him of Alfred and it was suffocating, devastating; he was certain it would kill him. He didn't know what happened to it- he didn't care.

Everything passed in a blur. Arthur wasn't entirely sure what he felt- it first was deep, crippling despair, but after the first month it gave way to numbness. He was just... Indifferent.

Kiku was high more often than he was not. It was strange too see him so vacant and empty compared to the spirited energy he had before the news came. When Arthur commented on it, it began an argument with Francis. They were almost constantly fighting over the smallest things- it had gotten to the point where they could hardly be in the same room.

The argument had escalated to an all-out shouting match before Francis cut him off. He was always the one to stop their fights. He locked Arthur in a gaze that was too hurt, too solemn, too understanding. "When you reach the point where you do not want to feel, you will do anything."  
>Arthur knew all too well what he meant.<br>He was so tired of feeling.

.

"Arthur. Arthur, please. This isn't a good idea."

Bombs. Ivan mentioned that the protesters were making bombs now, because they weren't being heard. An explosion would be heard. Arthur had met up with them and devised a plan. He was working on the rough draft of an explosive now.

"Arthur, listen. These were supposed to be peaceful protests."

Kiku's voice cut into his concentration again. Arthur ignored him, hoping he would leave. He had work to do. Kiku should go back to Heracles- this was one of the sober moments the poor kid lived for. All Arthur had to live for were the protests.

"Arthur." Kiku's voice was quiet, hesitant. "This isn't what Alfred would want."

He snapped. He didn't want to feel anymore, but that was too much. He felt like he was being choked. Burning anger blazed to life in him, suffocating any other emotion. How dare he, how dare Kiku bring Alfred into this, his light, his air, his everything?! "Well, you know what, Kiku?" He slammed his pencil down, snapping it, and spun around to face Kiku. He cowered in the doorway. "You know fucking what? Alfred-"

And then, just like that, the anger was gone, replaced by a quiet sorrow. He almost wished he was furious. It was easier to deal with. He turned around and fell back into his chair. "Alfred's gone."  
>"I'm sorry, Arthur, I-" Kiku cut himself off, horrified. "I'm sorry."<p>

Kiku left before he could say anything else. He buried his face in his hands. What was wrong with him? He should be the one apologizing. Kiku was right. Alfred hated violence. He always said that they were the peaceful ones, the people trying to stop the death.

What was he letting himself turn into?

.

_"One, two, three, four, we don't want your fucking war!"_

Arthur shouted until his throat was sore.

_"One, two, three, four, we don't want your fucking war!"_

This was Alfred's chant. These were Alfred's words.

_"One, two, three, four, we don't want your fucking war!"_

Alfred's laugh was so beautiful. He was such a passionate, vivid, wonderful person.

He would never laugh again.

Arthur didn't want to feel anymore. He was so sick and tired of this. He was so goddamn sick of this.

So he shouted.

The police eyed them warily from where they stood on guard. This was an angry crowd- and rightfully so. This country had no reason to be fighting this war. It had taken Alfred from him. And that alone was reason to scream until they were heard.

And that was when a bomb went off.

The crowd dissolved into chaos. Someone was yelling. Arthur got separated from Francis and Kiku and Heracles as the police bore down on them. Another bomb went off.

Arthur shoved through the people, trying to get free. There weren't supposed to be bombs. Ivan said that he talked to the people making them and they stopped. He frantically looked for them in the crowd, dodging the baton of a policeman.

"NO!"

Arthur's blood ran cold at the sound of that one raw-throated, blood-curdling scream.

"NO, NO, NO, NO!"

That was Kiku's voice.

"STOP IT, STOP IT!"

Arthur spun around, almost afraid of what he would see. Kiku's voice was so full of devastation and terror and-

_God help us._

Kiku was desperately trying to fight off a policeman as another beat Heracles with a baton. His arms were raised as he took each blow. His face was a grimace of pain and determination.

"STOP, STOP!" Kiku punched the officer he was fighting hard before pushing past him, running toward Heracles.

With another hit, Heracles' arm made a sick snapping sound. Before he could even recover, the police man hit him over the head.

"NO, NO, NO! HERACLES!"

He collapsed onto the pavement.

Arthur was moving even before he realized it. He was fighting through the crowd with only getting to Heracles on his mind.

Kiku finally fought off the policeman and reached Heracles, falling to his knees. Arthur reached him soon after.

Heracles' forehead had been hit. His right arm was covered in bruises, and his left was bent at an awkward angle.

Kiku grasped his hand in his. His other checked his pulse. "Heracles."

His eyes were closed, his grip loose.

"Heracles, look at me."

Nothing.

Arthur couldn't breathe. This couldn't happen. Not after Alfred. He could deal with another person dying.

"Heracles, you promised." Tears were streaming down Kiku's face. "You promised we'd always be together. You promised you wouldn't leave me." There was no response. "Heracles, wake up! For God's sake, wake up!"

Suddenly, his eyelids fluttered open, and he lurched forward, gasping. "Where am I? What happened?"  
>Arthur's relief was short-lived. Heracles fell back, suppressing a shout. He cursed. "My head. It hurts."<p>

"Listen, Heracles." Kiku's voice was controlled. "We're at the protest. Bombs went off and the police attacked. You got your head hit pretty bad."

Heracles didn't look like he understood. "Protest? Police? Am I gonna get arrested?" His English progressively became more and more accented. "What am I doing? I'm going to, to..." His brow furrowed in confusion. "To... vomit. I..." His voice trailed off before it started up again, not in English.

"Heracles, I can't understand you."

It didn't seem like Heracles understood. He didn't even look at Kiku. His eyes were strange- one pupil was bigger than the other, and they were unfocused. He kept blinking and squinting at the light as if it hurt.

Just then, Francis fought through the crowd and shouting, joining them. "Are you alright? Is..." He saw Heracles. "Merde! Is he okay?"

"No, Francis." Kiku looked up from Heracles and his voice turned unsteady, his eyes wide. He was terrified. "Find a phone. Call an ambulance. He's not at all okay."

The entire time they were waiting, Kiku held Heracles' good hand, trying to get him from falling asleep, to speak in English, to do something, anything coherent. All Arthur could do was watch.

"_Psipsína_. Remember? That was the first thing you taught me. Heracles, don't fall asleep. Paper. That's what I taught you. Remember? You remember, right? Heracles, stay awake, please!"

It was an eternity until the ambulances finally arrived. And as Kiku watched them carry Heracles away on a stretcher, he said one thing to Arthur before he followed.

"This is why I didn't want any bombs." He spat the words at his feet, shooting him an icy glare before turning around and walking off. He didn't look back.

Arthur couldn't move for a long time from his spot, even after Francis returned.

This could have been his fault. If he finished the bomb, it would have been.

All because of a war they had no place in fighting.

.

Heracles was alright.

Thank god, he was alright.

It would take a while to recover, the doctor said. It could have been a lot worse than it was. But it wasn't, and that's what mattered.

They would keep him for three days before he was released, just in case. His left arm was broken and he had a concussion, but he was alright.

Arthur went along with Kiku when he visited Heracles. Francis joined them whenever he could, but the Bad Touch Trio was steadily getting more popular and it took up most of his time.

Arthur would always end up taking walks around the hospital to give them some privacy. It didn't matter where he went as long as he could find his way back. He knew he was looking for something, but he wouldn't let himself fully acknowledge it. There wasn't anything left for him to look for.

"Excuse me, sir? Are you supposed to be here?"

A nurse holding a clipboard was looking at him suspiciously. He glanced around at his surroundings. He didn't recognize them- he really had gone far this time.

"You're in the Military Ward." She raised an eyebrow. "Are you visiting someone?"

"Yes, in fact, I am. I can't find them, though." He meant to say he was lost, but it was suddenly like he couldn't control his words. "He's tall, blond, has glasses. He had been injured about a month and a half ago."

The woman sighed. "You should have said so in the first place. Follow me. He's in the J-O section. You're in the P-V section."

Jones. Jones would be in that section. He didn't want to believe it. He was afraid to hope. Could Alfred really be here, alive? He followed the nurse, growing increasingly more desperate each passing moment. Alfred was right in front of him- he wanted to run down the hallway.

He was going to see Alfred again.

The woman stopped him outside a door. "Wait a moment." She went inside. Arthur listened in impatiently.

"You have a visitor. Short, blond hair?" There was a pause, a quiet response. The nurse reappeared, giving him a small smile. "You can go in now."

He told himself to move, forced himself to walk. He looked to the person on the hospital bed and-  
>That wasn't Alfred.<p>

His nervousness and exhilaration suddenly crashed, fell to the ground, broke apart, replaced by confusion and disappointment. The stranger was looking at him with icy blue eyes far colder than Alfred's, with too-short blond hair and at least half a foot too tall. He was smiling but as soon as he saw Arthur it dropped, his brow furrowing in confusion.

This is what he got for hoping. He such an idiot.

There was a long silence before either of them spoke. This man was the first to.

"You're not my wife."

Arthur wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Well, you most definitely aren't my Alfred."

The man's shoulder lifted in a shrug. "Guess we have something in common." He mumbled all his words and they were slurred together. He was rather hard to understand. He shook his head, letting out a breath of what sounded like amusement. "Alfred. How ironic."

Arthur didn't understand what he was laughing about. "Why is that ironic?"

"Knew an Alfred. In Vietnam."

Arthur's mind flashed back to the letter he had gotten from Alfred an eternity ago.

_"One of them is tall, blond, real quiet. Everyone else is afraid of him, but he ain't so scary. He hardly talks, but when he does, it's all about his wife he left behind."_

Arthur didn't want to hope, not again, not after his hopes had been dashed again and again. But if this man knew about Alfred... "Excuse me for such a personal question, but what is your name?"

"Oxensternia. Berwald."

And then he knew. Suddenly, everything made sense. Arthur was never someone to believe in fate, but he had no other way to explain this. "You knew Alfred. You fought with him. Your wife is named Tino." He said slowly, breathlessly.

Berwald's brow furrowed again. "...Yes," He said almost cautiously. Then his eyes widened and he looked at Arthur as if truly seeing him for the first time. "You're Arthur."

"Yes. Yes! You were there, when he got injured, weren't you?"

That seemed to make something snap in Berwald. He tensed, lurched forward, winced. Suddenly his breathing became ragged, his face ashen. "Can't breathe... Burning, burning..." He coughed, his hands balling into fists. "You can't die, Jones, you got to stay with me-" A bout of coughing rendered him unable to talk.

Arthur didn't know what to do. He had never seen anything like this before. Guilt welled up within him- this was his fault. He made this happen, whatever it was. He had to do something. "Berwald. Berwald, you're not there. You're here." It was the only thing he could think of.

It seemed to work, if even a little. Berwald's breath began to return to normal. He seemed to come under control again. His coughing stopped. It was a long moment before he straightened, sitting back with a heavy sigh. He looked exhausted. "I was..." His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat. "I was there. It was horrible."

"Is he...?" Arthur didn't want to push, but Berwald knew. He knew, and Arthur needed to know, he knew...

Berwald took a deep breath. "They set the jungle on fire. Alfred was caught in it. I got him out. I got shot." He gestured to his leg. "Alfred was burned." He forced each word out.

The room was spinning. Arthur forced himself to keep from breaking down. He took deep breaths, his heart pounding. "Berwald, what happened to him?" He was afraid to hear the answer.

Berwald's icy eyes bored into him, too heartrendingly similar to Alfred's. Arthur needed him to answer, he was suffocating, drowning, he needed to know...

"He is alive."

* * *

><p><em>Psipsína- cat in Greek<br>_


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur's chest lightened, his blood rushed to his head, he stared unbelieving, unseeing. And then he laughed. He actually laughed. He didn't remember the last time he had laughed- certainly not before Alfred left. He could see Berwald speaking, but his lips seemed to move soundlessly.

Alfred was alive.

Arthur was so relieved he almost sank to his knees. All this time, he thought that Alfred was dead, gone, that he would never be able to kiss him or hold him again. He would be able to- he would have the rest of their lives to. Color returned to his world, life had meaning again, he had something to live for. He could feel tears pricking in his eyes. "Thank you, Berwald, thank you..."

The smallest of smiles softened his severe features. Alfred was right- he wasn't frightening at all.

Berwald looked as if he remembered something. He began feeling the crack between the hospital bed and the wall before withdrawing a letter and holding it out to Arthur. "For my wife. They kept taking away my letters."

Arthur scanned the address. "I know this place. I can take it to him."

Berwald's smile widened until it really was one. "Thanks. Means a lot."

Arthur couldn't help smiling himself. "You gave everything back to me. This is nothing."

The nurse knocked on the door before walking in. Arthur quickly put the letter in his pocket. "Visiting hours are ending."

"Of course." He nodded to Berwald. "Thank you, really. Good luck."

.

The first thing Arthur did was tell Heracles and Kiku what had happened. It was like the difference between night and day- life was suddenly back in Kiku's eyes and Heracles lit up. Arthur was elated himself. Alfred would be home soon. He would see him again. Everything was going to be okay.

The second thing Arthur did was take the letter to Tino. The address was in the more residential part of the city, leading to a small brick house surrounded by a little fence and a garden. When Arthur rang the doorbell, a small boy answered followed by a little dog, barking at his feet.

The boy was only nine or ten but his pale eyes were hollow and much older than the rest of him, his face hopeless. His blond hair was unkempt, his fingers gripped the doorknob too hard. "You're an angel, aren't you." His voice was monotone, expressionless. "You're an angel, and you're here to take me to my papa, because he's dead." He didn't cry, his voice didn't tremble. He seemed numb, and tired, far too tired for a child.

"Peter, please, don't be ridiculous." Another man entered the doorway, young, blond hair and light eyes. He took Peter's hand in his. He looked up to Arthur slowly. "What do you need?"

"I have a letter, for Tino." Arthur withdrew it from his pocket.

"That's me." Tino simply seemed confused now. "You could have just put it in the mailbox, you know."

"It's from Berwald."

Tino stepped back from the door as if he had been hit. His eyes were wide. "No. He's dead, isn't he."

"Papa really is dead?" Peter just looked confused, contrary to how he was earlier. "He told me he would come home. He told me he would show me how to make model airplanes. He's coming home, right, mama?" He turned back to Arthur. "Are you really going to take me to him?"

"He's coming home." Arthur couldn't stop a tiny smile. "Tino, he's alive and well." He held the letter out to him. Tino took it immediately, opening it and reading its contents. His hands were trembling.

"Did you hear that, mama? Papa's coming home!" Peter's face lit up and he looked like a normal, happy kid. He threw himself at Arthur, hugging him. "He's coming home! Thank you, mister angel!"

Tino steadied himself against the doorframe, holding the letter to his chest. Tears formed in his eyes, slid down his face. He looked up to Arthur and smiled.

"Thank you."

.

Arthur spent most of his time in Harmony House after that. He liked having a sense of purpose again, something to live for. He made sure he slept, that he ate, that he shaved. The past month he hadn't done much of any of those- he didn't see a point to it.

Now he did, because Alfred was alive.

Francis had a big event coming up. The Bad Touch Trio was going to perform on the top of their apartment block and he was hardly home because of all the practice. He was planning on moving out soon with Antonio and Gilbert to an apartment of their own.

Kiku was completely sober now. He swore that he would quit weed altogether and focus on getting a college degree. He had graduated from high school and left behind all the negativity with it. He had been through a lot, the poor kid, but he was going to start fresh. Heracles himself had gone sober a while back and was now working hard as a proper architect.

Arthur had never been more proud.

He visited Berwald as well. He was making a swift recovery. Sometimes, Tino and Peter would be there, sometimes they were alone, but Arthur didn't mind. Berwald was good company. He didn't talk much, but whenever he did, it was always interesting or insightful.

Soon, he was released from the hospital completely. His leg healed as much as it ever would, and though he walked with a slight limp, he would be alright.

Arthur couldn't help but wonder when Alfred would be released. He must have been wounded terribly. Arthur wouldn't let himself think of that. Alfred was alive, and he would be back soon, and that's what mattered.

And so July turned to August. The performance drew closer until the day truly arrived. Antonio was nervous, Gilbert kept pacing around the room, saying how awesome they were going to be and how they were going to amaze everyone, and Francis sat back and watched it all happen. Arthur had to leave soon after to work in the shop until they did preform. He was in the middle of getting a record for a customer when the street suddenly blared to life with music. He didn't recognize the song- it must have been original. The more he listened, the more impressed he became; they were quite good. The record eluded him, though, and he looked harder, trying to be able to get out there and see them himself.

The song came to an end, followed by a more gentle song Arthur did indeed recognize.

_"Here comes the sun..."_

He finally found the record, pulling it down and ringing it up just as Kiku and Heracles ran into the store.

"Arthur, you have to come with me right now." Kiku was grinning. "You have got to see this!"

"One moment." He finished, handing the record to his customer. Here Comes the Sun came to its conclusion as he followed Kiku out the shop. There seemed to be a disturbance on the roof- the music had briefly stopped and someone was talking to someone else he couldn't see. Kiku pulled him into the apartment complex across from theirs and up the stairs toward the roof.

"Is this alright? Aren't we trespassing or something?" Arthur kept trying to see out the windows to their apartment but Kiku wouldn't slow down at all.

"Just keep going." Heracles smiled. "There's something you'll want to see."

They were almost to the roof when the music started up again.

_"Who knows how long I've loved you..."_

Arthur couldn't move. The shock was like a splash of icy water, freezing him to the spot. He felt dizzy, almost as if he would faint.

_"You know I love you still."_

He would recognize that voice anywhere. It had teased him, laughed with him, sang to him, cried with him.

_"Will I wait a lonely lifetime?"_

It was the voice in his dreams, the voice that really couldn't sing, the voice that calmed him whenever he heard it.

_"If you want me to, I will."_

Arthur told himself to move, forced himself to move, and he ran up the stairs and threw open the door. He raced to the edge of the roof.

His world ended, the ground broke apart at his feet, the sky turned dark, the music disappeared, his breath caught in his lungs, and it began again. He couldn't believe it. He could only stare at the band on the other roof, not daring to hope, not daring to believe.

Alfred was singing. Alfred was on the roof, holding the microphone, singing their song. His hair shone gold in the sunlight, he was wearing his bloody ridiculous bomber jacket, he was there, he was real, and this wasn't a dream. Arthur leaned onto Kiku for support, suddenly too weak to keep standing.

Alfred was back.

He could hear the music again, the crowd cheering below. Kiku was talking beside him, but he could hardly understand. Something about finding Alfred and running to him right after. He was only hearing one thing.

_"And when at last I find you, our song will fill the air."_

Arthur could feel tears rising in his eyes. He couldn't control it anymore. Alfred was alive, he was okay, he was right in front of him. Alfred was singing their song.

_"Sing it loud so I can hear you."_

Arthur tried to understand, tried to believe he wasn't dreaming. This was too incredible, too amazing.

_"Make it easy to be near you."_

Joy swelled in his chest. He felt a rush of exhilaration, of warmth, of pride.

_"For the things you do endear you to me, oh, for you..."_

This was his Alfred. His Alfred, who survived the hell of Vietnam and made it back.

_"I will."_

Alfred stepped back from the microphone, waved to the crowd, walked back into the apartment, and then Arthur was running. He ran down the stairs, out into the crowd, up into his apartment, and stopped before 909.

The door was open. He walked slowly, nervously to it. The last time he thought he found Alfred it wasn't him. What if he just imagined this all?

He walked inside and closed the door behind him. He was afraid to turn around. What if this wasn't real, if it was just a dream, if he would wake up cold and alone?

"Arthur."

At that whisper, Arthur spun around. Alfred was there, still beautiful and charming and perfect. His eyes were like the sky, his grin was carefree. Arthur shook his head, leaned on the door for support. "I thought you died." It was the only thing he could say.

"Didn't I promise I would come back?" Alfred took a step closer to him.

"I'm dreaming." Arthur shook his head again. "The letter said you weren't going to survive... Berwald said you were alive, but it's been so long, and..." He stopped trying to make sense of it. He stopped trying to make sense of any of it. Alfred was alive, standing in front of him, and that's all that mattered. Suddenly, he couldn't control himself; he tackled Alfred in a hug, buried his face in the collar of his jacket, tried to convince himself that this was really happening. He was afraid to believe after everything. "If this is a dream, I don't ever want to wake up."

Alfred laughed softly. "Neither do I."

Arthur pulled back, put his hands on the sides of Alfred's face. "Are you really real?" He could only whisper. "Is this really not a dream?"

"I promise." Alfred put his hand over Arthur's. He just barely noticed the scars that covered it. "This isn't a dream."

Arthur couldn't stop an overjoyed laugh as he threw his arms around Alfred again, breathing in his scent. Alfred's arms were around him, Alfred's hand was tangled in his hair, Alfred was really back. It was impossible, but here he was. Arthur couldn't stop tears from rising again. "How... I don't..." He couldn't finish. He was completely overwhelmed.

"I promised you I would come back. I had to survive for that." Alfred's arms tightened around him. "No matter what those Vietnamese did to me, I would survive for you."

Arthur took it all in; Alfred's arms around him, his scent, simply being with him... He could stay like this forever. He didn't intend to ever be separated from Alfred again.

After a long moment, Alfred spoke. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"I know this might be a bit untoward but I've been absolutely dying to, so..." He trailed off uncertainly. "Could I kiss you?"

How cute. Alfred was nervous. He was absolutely perfect. Arthur grinned, pulling back to face him. "Do you really need to ask?" He leaned in and closed the distance between them.

The kiss was warm, it was perfect, it was everything he had wanted. Every gap, every crack every part of him that missed Alfred, all of it was filled. It was promise, because Alfred was real, he was back, he was here and kissing him. His arms were around Arthur, his hand was tangled in his hair, and Alfred pulled him closer until they were touching from chest to hip. Arthur's head was spinning and his breath was coming fast and he just managed to pull away before things weren't so innocent. "Alfred."

Alfred grinned and played with Arthur's hair. "Yes, darlin'?"

Arthur's heart still leapt at that nickname. "I love you."

"You've only said that once before." Alfred winked. "Do it again."

He was ridiculous and bloody irritating and beautiful and perfect and Arthur was the luckiest man alive. "I love you, Alfred Jones." And he would never stop.

.

_November._

"Hey, no looking!"

"For the fiftieth time, I am not looking, Alfred. Just where are you taking me?"

"You'll see, you'll see..."

The past four months passed in a blur. It was everything Arthur could have ever wanted and more. Harmony House became wildly popular until they had to expand it and hire new staff. Arthur would still sometimes work there, behind the desk, just because of all of the memories. His relationship with Alfred was built in that shop. And that was everything to him.

The Bad Touch Trio began selling records, which would be bought as soon as they were shipped in. Francis had moved out into an apartment with Antonio and Gilbert. They had become celebrities after the roof performance. Alfred would sometimes be recognized as well.

Heracles had become a rather successful architect and Kiku was well on his way to being a psychologist. They both had moved out a while back, too, taking the cats with them. It had become a little lonely in the apartment without them all.

And today, Alfred had dragged him out to god knows where, bent on showing whatever it was to him. Finally, Alfred removed his hands. Arthur blinked in the sudden light, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When they did, his mouth dropped open.

"This is ours?"

Before him was a house, cardboard-cutout American dream. The walls were white paneling, there was a small, neat garden, all enclosed by a white picket fence. It was like a dream come true.

Alfred pressed keys into his hand. Arthur noticed his bracelet glint in the light- he didn't think Alfred would ever take it off. "Completely." He was grinning that ridiculous, gorgeous grin. "Heracles designed it and oversaw it, you know."

It was only then he noticed Heracles standing off to the side. "Alfred, are you sure you don't want another cat door?"

Alfred sighed. "I am entirely sure, Heracles. You put in five already and we don't even have a cat. I think we're good on the cat door."

"You know, Muffin did just have kittens..."

Arthur just laughed. These people were all so ridiculous and he loved every one of them. "I'd actually like to have a kitten."

Heracles' eyes lit up. "Cats are nice. Cats are wonderful. Especially their stomachs. They're so fluffy and soft. And their purring. And-"

"Jones?"

Heracles trailed off as Alfred turned toward the voice. Berwald stood in the street, Tino and Peter beside him. The same little dog he had seen before was at their feet, Peter holding his leash.

Alfred blinked in surprise. "Oxensternia."

The smallest of smiles was on Berwald's face. "You survived."

Alfred laughed. "That was nothing. I've seen worse."

Berwald just shook his head. "Moving in?"

"Yup. With my..." Alfred threw his arm around Arthur and winked. "_Wife_."

Berwald's smile widened. Tino turned bright red. "For the last time, Berwald, I am not your wife-"

"Mister angel?" Peter peered at him. "You brought my papa back. I don't need anything else. I'm happy like this."

Arthur didn't know what he felt, only that it made his throat tighten. Peter was precious. Arthur was so, so glad Berwald made it back.

Berwald strode forward, his gait uneven, his left leg dragging behind him. He held his hand out to Alfred. "Congratulations on surviving, Alfred."

Alfred shook it with a scarred hand. There was something sad, something pained in his eyes. "Congratulations, Berwald."

Peter wandered up to Heracles, the dog trailing behind him. "Hello. This is Hanatamago, my dog. Do you like dogs?"

Heracles crouched down to be level with him. "I like cats better, but this one is pretty cute."

Tino walked up to Arthur, smiling. "You know, I never thanked you properly. And you seem like a very nice person, and I'm your neighbor, so, hello. I'm Tino Väinämöinen, but no one can ever pronounce that. Just call me Tino."

"Arthur." He grinned. He knew would like it here. And when Alfred looked over at him and smiled, he was certain.

He would like it wherever Alfred was.

.

_February._

Alfred fiddled with the radio while Arthur read a book and tried not to be distracted by the kitten that kept climbing up his pants. Heracles had given her to them a few weeks ago. She was a little ball of energy, nipping and batting at their fingers and running around the house at the unholy hours of the morning. "We should really give her a name, you know."

Alfred stood up, seemingly satisfied with the station he landed on. "I'm horrible at names. Just name her something she looks like." He came and sat next to Arthur, putting his arm around his shoulders.

What did she look like? She was a little white ball of fluff, like a cream puff, or a cloud, or... "Egg. She looks like an Egg." It was ridiculous. It was perfect.

"Are you really suggesting we name our cat Egg?" At Arthur's very serious nod, Alfred snorted. "Heracles gave her to us. A tribute."

Arthur pulled Egg off his pants and onto his lap. She nibbled at his fingers. "I would drink to that."

"Please don't. You were a handful the last time you did."

The song on the radio faded away and the announcer came on: "Next up we have the new hit, Animals, by the Bad Touch Trio..."

"No way." Alfred jumped up and turned up the radio. Francis' vocals, Antonio's guitar, and Gilbert's drums soon filled the room. "No way! Get me the phone. I have to call them."

Francis might have been a right awful bastard most of the time and he might have gotten on every last one of Arthur's nerves, but he sure did have quite the voice.

Better than Alfred, at least.

.

March.

It had been a year since Arthur had met Alfred. It had been a year since that life-altering knock at the door, since Arthur had escaped his village and entered a new, beautiful life. It had been exhilarating, it had been confusing, it had been crazy, it had been devastating, but Arthur knew he would do it all over again. Alfred was worth it.

Alfred, who's hands were hot on his hips and lips on his throat, Alfred, who was on top of him, Alfred, who Arthur was clinging almost desperately to, Alfred, who Arthur wanted more than he had ever wanted anyone, and he took Alfred's shirt off and-

Froze.

Alfred's torso was covered in mottled scars, stretching to his shoulders and faintly along his stomach. His forearms and hands were scarred as well, dark against his skin.

And it suddenly hit him, that Alfred was truly in the war, that he was truly injured. His chest ached, his eyes burned with tears. Alfred should have never had to endure that. Alfred never had a place in that war to begin with.

Alfred seemed to realize what he was thinking and immediately looked away. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "They set the jungle on fire and I was caught in it. I couldn't escape until Berwald pulled me out, but I was left with this." Alfred sat back and buried his face in his hands. "It's disgusting, isn't it? I just wanted to be your hero. I wanted to be someone you were proud of. Now I'm like this."

Arthur was certain his heart was breaking. Even if he were scarred, it didn't matter. He was still gorgeous and perfect. Arthur would never think he wasn't. He had never seen Alfred so insecure like this; he never wanted to again. "Love, you're beautiful. And you don't have to try to be my hero." Arthur gently took Alfred's hands from his face. "You always were."

Arthur kissed him slowly, pulled him close again, tried to show him it was alright. A few scars meant nothing. They didn't change anything. Alfred soon understood and they were back in the passion of it all. It didn't matter to him that Alfred was scarred, or a man, or any of that anymore. Arthur was so in love with him, and he was damned lucky that Alfred loved him back.

When Alfred was drifting off, then, their limbs tangled and their skin still cooling, Arthur knew he was the most perfect thing in the entire world. Arthur was glad he ended up in Apartment 909, he was glad to have met someone like Alfred, he was glad he finally saved up enough to leave his shipyard and village behind. He found something so unbelievable and wonderful and life-changing that he would never want it any other way.

Some things might never be resolved. Matthew might never return. And that was alright. The war would end someday. Things would get better than they already were, and this entire war would someday become a distant memory.

Arthur could feel his eyelids drooping. He didn't mind. He was perfectly content to fall asleep. In fact, here in Alfred's arms, he couldn't imagine anything better. This time, he wasn't afraid, or devastated, or scared. This time, Alfred would be there when Arthur awoke.

And this was only the beginning.

_The End._


End file.
